


Merry Christmas, Doctor Carter

by LizzieRimmsy (HardlightLibrarian)



Series: ER Headcanon [2]
Category: ER (TV 1994)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, Christmas In July | Christmas Out Of Season, Complicated Relationships, Dysphoria, Fluff and Angst, Guest Stars, Headcanon, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Sex, Intersex, Male Slash, Medical Conditions, Medical Jargon, Mild Sexual Content, Mpreg, OTP Feels, Other, References to Canon, Season/Series 05, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trust Issues, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardlightLibrarian/pseuds/LizzieRimmsy
Summary: Set someone in conjunction with the ER episode,The Miracle Workerfrom series five.It’s a few days before Christmas, and Gant takes now, two years later, to try and talk to Carter. The operative word being ‘try.’ Mistakes are potentially made, rumours are started; how can things possibly be worse?FYI, this will not be for everyone. Read the tags and if you think you’re interested, by all means, go for it.
Series: ER Headcanon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734598
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	1. Two Years Later…

It was seven-thirty-two in the morning. The toothpaste still lingered on John Carter’s teeth. He’d been up all night, working the ER. A cup of coffee wouldn’t be out of the question. So, he found himself in a local coffee shop. The smell of roasted beans permeated the entire room, leaving him both ill and wanting. Regardless of how nauseous it made him, he desperately needed the pick-me-up.

John ordered his drink and waited, sitting by a window and watching the goings on around him. The occasional chill he felt told him the place wasn’t properly insulated. It was near the slums of Chicago — he expected it.

Out of nowhere, amidst the murmuring of other customers, John heard a voice from behind say, “You’ve lost weight.”

Stunned, John froze and almost stopped breathing. It couldn’t be, he thought. Could it? As his initial, heart-stopping astonishment began to fade into a sensation of alarm, even fury, turned his head to the side, and saw the man grinning friendly at him. A few seconds more, he stared at him dead-on. He couldn’t fathom it, despite the evidence standing there in front of him. Yet there he was, and his moon-round face and dark-chocolate skin tone, giving John a cherubic, meek smile.

“Hey, John.”

Suddenly, John remembered that they weren’t on their own. He could feel everyone else staring and judging, even though it was clear that was far from the truth. Nevertheless, John bolted out the door, leaving his coffee behind, which Dennis plucked up.

Without a second thought, Dennis hurried after him, coffees in hand, trying not to spill them. “John! Look, I know this is screwed up, and I don‘t deserve–”

“You’re right on both accounts.”

“John, listen to me!”

He whirled around, a definite scowl on his face. “Can you do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Leave me alone.”

Those three words, his look of unmitigated resentment left Dennis speechless, and just as he was going attempt to say something, John cut him off.

“I can’t handle this right now. Can you just go?” John demanded, anger and hatred mingling with his words.

Once again, he was overcome by what he said. Dennis had seen him irritated before, but this was something else entirely, a side he’d never seen. He found himself shivering. It wasn't just that he felt ashamed; it felt wrong. He shouldn’t have come.

“Ye-yeah, sure,” Dennis stammered. “Of course, but… can’t you hear me out, at least?”

As he departed one last time, he said, “You know where I’ll be.”

Dennis watched him walk away. So many things he wanted to say, but none of it seemed worthy. “Yeah. I think I do know,” he thought out loud.


	2. Not Here

“Two kids come in here, one ends up brain dead, the other needs a liver and they both have AB blood,” John said, ignoring the look of disapproval from Lucy. “Tell me that’s not a godsend.”

“It’s not,” she replied. “The mother won’t consent to–”

“She will when I get through with her.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. _This instrument of God thing is getting ridiculous_ , she thought.

The two burst into Stephen’s room, the eighteen-year-old whose brain John had essentially turned to mush. Chuny was there with him, but not his mother.

“Where’s his mom?” John asked.

“Not here,” she answered.

_No shit_. He then heard the alarms on the monitor going off. “Is he throwing PVCs?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you get me?” he demanded. “Let’s get the pacer pads on him.”

“Can’t,” Chuny tersely said. “DNR.”

Like a lead weight dropping in the ocean, John’s hopes and his stomach sank. “What?”

“His mother said you talked her into it.”

Muttering under her breath, Lucy spoke, “There goes your godsend.”

John waved her words off like they were annoying mosquitoes. “Did she say where she was going?”

Chuny shrugged. “Not to me.”

“If she comes back, keep her here.”

With that, John pushed the door open and strode out in search for the boy’s mother. Instead, he found a familiar face admidst a dozen other people in chairs who stopped him in his tracks. Dennis’.

_Not again. Not now_.

Despite the many alarms going off in his head, John still found himself drifting towards him, as if he were under some kind of spell.

When they locked eyes, Dennis rose to his feet, clutching a brown paper bag.

“What are you doing here?” John’s question was flat and low.

Though the lump in his throat made it difficult, Dennis still attempted to respond. “I– I didn’t like how we left things, and–”

Seeing people who didn’t need to know what they had going on between them, on top of his colleagues right behind him, John quietly blurted out, “Not here,” He motioned Dennis to follow him to the ambulance bay, side-stepping other nurses and doctors he hoped didn’t recognise him. Once there, he said, “I do _not_ have the time or the stomach for this right now and I’d rather not freeze my ass off. So, whatever you want to say, hurry up and say it.”

For the third time that day, Dennis was rendered speechless. He knew he messed up, but this wasn’t the John Carter he used to know.

“Well?” he snapped.

The corners of Dennis’ eyes crinkled in reaction to the anger in his voice. “Sorry. Just never seen you like this before. Short-fused, pissed off… You been hanging around Benton too much?” His lips parted in a tiny smile, which faded after he realised John wasn’t having any of it. “I wanted to apologise.”

“Okay. You’ve done that. Now you can go.”

“What happened to you?”

Just as John went to head back inside, Dennis’ words forced him to turn around. “What happened to _you_?” he shot back. “Who the hell did we waste fifteen minutes of chest compressions on? Whose funeral did I go to?!”

“I can explain everything, if you’d let me–”

Quickly, John interjected, “Now you’re here, back from the dead, two years later, and you have the audacity to be surprised that I’m pissed off?!” His heart seemed to be caught off guard. He could feel pain starting up in his arm and his chest tightening to a degree. Recognising the signs, John drew in a deep breath as best as he could and strived to calm down. “Listen, I have patients and…” Knowing that it didn’t mean a damn thing what he had to do, he simply turned to leave, only to be stopped again. He felt fingers wrapped around his forearm and glared down at them, his darkened gaze trailing up the arm and to Dennis’ face. “Let go of me,” he said as evenly as possible.

Not wanting to be punched by the man, he backed off. “No problem. But John, I– I really want to talk. I know you have questions, I can answer them — or I can _try_ — if you want me to.”

_Talk? What could there possibly be left to talk about it_. John had made his peace with his death, so-called as it turned out, just last year. What was he to say now? What was the point in rehashing it? In fact, as the years passed, it began to feel like the _least_ interesting thing to talk about. He was sick of it and over it all by now. And yet, the whole time John stared so intently at Dennis, all he could think about was how much he wanted to know what happened to him. How he could just leave him like that. He deserved to know that much.

Piercing the silence was an ambulance rolling up, its sirens wailing until the vehicle stopped. It snagged John’s attention.

Considering this as his cue to go and let John be, Dennis nodded. “Okay. Got it,” he said with a long exhale, then took his leave.

Scrunching his eyes shut, looking blindly to the cloudy winter’s sky, regret flowed through John’s body. But he had to know, and deep down, a part of him missed Dennis. An even larger part of him loathed himself for allowing that to happen.

John winced as he ripped off the metaphorical bandage and called out, “My shift ends at three in the morning,” A Mona Lisa-smile threatened to flash upon his lips when Dennis swung around. “If that’s not too late for you.”

“No, that’s fine. Uh, here,” Dennis stuck out his arm and handed the paper bag to him. “Christmas present from two years ago. I hung on to it. You don’t have to open it. Burn it, if you want. Though, if you do, I suggest doing it in a well ventilated area.”

John closely scrutinised it with narrowed eyes, then held it out like it was a ticking time bomb. “What is it?”

“Guess you’ll have to open it,” he said, scantily smirking. “See you after three.”


	3. Even in Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions run high, complications arise and admissions are made.

The two stepped into an apartment building, but only Dennis kept going while John stood in the doorway, floored. Resentful. While he bounced from his grandparents’ mansion to Kerry Weaver’s basement, Dennis stayed right where he used to be as if nothing happened. Probably in the same apartment room, too. He could only assume.

When Dennis realised that he was alone, he retraced his steps to head back to him. “You coming?”

“Yeah, it’s just–” John looked around himself, thinking and panicking. This place, all these stairs; he’d either have a heart attack from just being here or from walking up four flights. He could have voiced his bitter opinions but decided to keep his mouth shut — at least until they got to his apartment — and instead told him, “I forgot this building didn’t have an elevator.”

“Yeah. The landlord didn’t want to have it retrofitted or something like that,” Taking notice of the look of dread on John’s face, he asked, “What’s up? Are you having second thoughts?”

“No. I want– _we_ _need_ to talk about this. But I think it only fair to say that you may have to carry me the rest of the way,” His words were met with a chuckle. As ridiculous as it sounded, he wished he were joking. “No, seriously. I hope your upper body strength is up to snuff.”

“Are you alright? I mean, honestly?”

“I’d rather not get into that,” he said. Accepting the inevitable, John sighed and motioned to the stairs. “Let’s just…”

“Yeah. Okay.”

* * *

Huffing and puffing, John trailed behind. He could feel his heart battering his chest, _screaming_ at him to knock it off. Even after years of taking better care of himself, his heart remained weak. He wasn’t sure if it would ever be the same again.

They came to a stop, arriving at Dennis’ apartment. As soon as he opened the door, sure enough, it was the same one he occupied before. The same pale-green walls, the same hardwood floor, the same view… Nothing had changed. In fact, it seemed that Dennis had been here a while.

“You’ve been, um,” For a moment, John’s eyes hung on an image he never thought he’d see again, causing his words to trail off. It was from that one time they’d gone to the beach. He got sunburned that day, but he'd been so lost in thought that he barely noticed or cared. Too busy having fun, for once. After coming back to reality, he continued with what he was saying. “You’ve been living here? How long?”

“Almost two years now. I kept up with payments and all that in the meantime. Figured I needed somewhere to stay in case I ever came back.”

“Wait, wait,” As John plopped himself down on the sofa, he asked, “ _Two years_? You’ve been here for two _years_?”

“Since I saw you and your other friends leave my dad’s house.”

Mindlessly falling back against the cushions, John pulled a face of shock. “You were there?”

Dennis sat across from him and nodded. “Across the street. He and I talked, I told him everything… You must’ve been a detective in a past life. He said you thought I was alive.”

“You were there and you didn’t say anything? Didn’t stop me?”

“I was terrified. I didn’t know _what_ to say.”

An infinitesimal fraction of him expected to be glad he was right, so he could go back into work the next day and rub it everyone’s face, but in the end, he just felt angry. Queasy, even. Either from stress or from his heart acting up. He couldn’t tell.

“I know _that_ look,” Dennis said.

“What are you talking about?”

“The one you get when you’re about to vomit,” Dennis jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. “If you need to–” He was cut off by John hustling to his feet and bolting to the toilet. Horrible as it was to witness, he still had to smile a little bit. _Some things never change_ , he thought.

Preceding the long, harsh retching was a loud thud, then nothing at all.

Every muscle in Dennis’ upper body went ridged after that, his eyes widening. “John?”

Without wasting another second, he made a mad dash for the bathroom. He went to open the door, except it didn’t give way. John was right behind it, unconscious, blocking it from opening entirely.

“Shit!” He squeezed through the gap he managed to make, then froze in place when he got inside. “Oh, shit,” he uttered again.

He searched for blood, both on bathroom surfaces and on John’s skull. Thankfully, there wasn’t any. Placing a finger on his wrist, Dennis checked his pulse. It was one-hundred and five. John’s breathing also quickened. The first thought Dennis had was that he was dying. He had hoped to be proven wrong.

Grudgingly and gingerly, he knelt down and pulled John upright, propping him against the side of the tub. There still was no sign of major bleeding.

“John? John, open your eyes,” Lightly, he tapped him on his cheek. Doing so gave rise to a small response; a soft moan. “That’s it, come on.”

He let out a grunt, trying to lift his head. It felt heavy, as though something was pushing down on it. Through a grimace, he reached out and pulled in a deep, shallow breath. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself looking into Dennis’.

Dennis had a kind expression on his face, though concern still shone in his gaze. “Don’t move. I have to check your head for lacerations.”

About as shaky as his limbs, he breathed out. “What happened?”

“You passed out,” Dennis replied. “Want me to call someone?”

“I meant to you.”

“Not now, John, something is seriously wrong. You need to be checked out.”

There was something wrong. This, he knew. The mere act of walking and even puking his guts out was too much for him, but he didn’t want to admit it. Vehemently, he shook his head. “It’s nothing. I promise,” Except the flutter of his eyelids, akin to brand new butterfly wings hoping for flight, broke that promise. John fixed on him with a lazy squint before starting to lose consciousness a second time.

“No, not again. John?”

The sound of his voice jolted him awake. He groaned once more and forced himself to snap to attention. “I’m here,” he said. “I think. What were we talking about before?”

Concern marred Dennis’ features. With haste, he helped John to his feet and replied, “We weren’t talking about anything. We were getting you to the hospital.”

John wrenched away from his touch. “I’m _not_ –!” Then he remembered. “Wait, stop for a second,” he mumbled, sucking back the bitter taste of his realisation. “Tell me what happened,” Impatience like sharp barbs formed on his words. “Right now.”

“I still don’t know if you hit your head. You might have a concussion.”

“If that’s the case, you can tell me again.”

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“The beginning is pretty good,” he angrily retorted, shooting him a glare.

“Okay,” Before he started, Dennis drew in a deep breath; his exhale stuttered. “I was at the station, near _County_. I admit, I thought about jumping, but… obviously, I didn’t. Some guy came and p–” Something inside seized the air in his lungs for a moment. Shakily, he breathed in and continued, “He put a gun to my back. He wanted money. We struggled. He lost his footing and grabbed on to my jacket… He must have slipped anyway, because the next thing I knew, he was on the tracks, and–”

For a long time, John gawked at him in disbelief and stymie. At last, he stammered and barked out, “S-so what, you just _ran_?! Are you crazy?!”

“I’d be crazy to stay! You know how that would look to the cops. Some black guy fighting with another, so it’s obviously gang-related, right? Just a couple of punks who had it coming to them.” 

“That’s no reason to take off. You should have done what was right.” 

“Like you _would_?” he shot back. 

“Yes, I would have! I would have stuck around and answered questions _like I’m supposed to_.”

Dennis drew out a frustrated breath. “See, that’s just it. The difference is _nothing_ would have happened to you, so you _could_ talk to the police, whereas _I_ wouldn’t’ve been given the chance!” 

John agonized trying to understand it all. He could get being afraid of racial discrimination and the degradation that comes with it, and he could sympathise deeply, but the reality of what he’d done was a thousand times worse. A man was left to die, and others were left to suffer through regret and grief. All for what? Nothing now, it seemed. Simply put, he wasn’t who John thought he was. Not any more. Perhaps he never was. In the end, he understood that he would never fully understand any of it. 

“I, uh– You’re right,” John said, voice trembling with emotions. “We shouldn’t have done this now.” 

“You wanted to know.” 

“Yeah, and now I wish I hadn’t.” 

“I was scared to death! I watched a man die right in front of me!” 

“How was it any different than what you used to see in the hospital, huh?” John demanded. “You weren't scared, of anything. All you saw was an opportunity, an easy out,” As John turned hard on the doorknob and yanked the door open, he muttered, “Well, congratulations. You got one.” 

“And what is it that you’re doing, man?” 

Just when he thought he was done, halfway through the doorway, he stopped and spun on his heels. “You know, I cannot _believe_ I even _thought_ about getting together with you!” 

Dennis’ eyes flew open. “What?”

Without a beat, John continued ranting and raving. “I did, for some reason, but that was before I found out how…” He paused a moment to think of a few choice adjectives he could use. There were a lot of them rattling around in his brain. Eventually, he spat out a few that weren’t all that original. “ _Selfish_ and inconsiderate and-and heartless you were!” 

“Hey–” 

“How can I love someone like that?” he asked, nearly shrieking. “I mean, I _shouldn’t_ –” 

“John!” 

“– _BUT I DO_!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “For some stupid reason, I do!” 

Neither one of them uttered another word. The only thing breaking the silence was John, breathing heavily. Getting worked up took its toll on him. 

Whether it was from tensions running high or an emotional reaction, it was unknown, but John teetered on the edge of a breakdown. His red, puffy eyes welled up, and his chin quivered. “I still do,” he wept. “After everything you did, I still love you.” 

Dennis drifted towards him, akin to a pale wisp of smoke, his head tilted. “You do?” 

“I never stopped,” There was definite snivelling going on, and his chest shuddered with trembling breaths. “Even in death.”


	4. Making Up… Sort Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made quite a few edits on this one after the fact. My apologies.

Clothes were strewn across the bedroom floor. The sheets smelled of sweat and cologne. Two lovers could be heard panting underneath them until one finally came up for air. It was Dennis Gant.

Eyes wide, appearing more than a little manic, he stared up at the ceiling. “What just happened?” he wondered, voice slightly hoarse.

Then another body slipped out from under, their long fingers gripping the sheets and pulling them off; John caressed Dennis’ slick, sweaty neck. “Pretty sure I just blew you,” he replied in a winded voice.

“Oh, _that’s_ what that was,” Dennis tracked the man’s suggestive gaze, whose eyebrows tugged up briefly before he dipped back under. “I thought–” The sensation of his tongue on his skin made him draw a sharp inhale. “Ahhh-haa, hey! Not now. I ha-ahhh–” The sensation of being sucked and licked quickly changed his mind. Work? What work? Dennis then gripped on to the bed’s headboard with both hands and braced himself. On his shaky exhalation, he said, “I see it’s my turn again.”

It wasn’t long before he heard a muffled gag and coughing.

“Whoa, you alright? You don’t have to go all the way. I haven’t even had a go yet.”

John popped out of the covers once again and wiped the drool from his lips with the back of his hand. “I wanted to,” A playful grin crept in while John sucked in his lower lip and bit down lightly. As he sat up, he scooted closer to him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to return the favour.”

“Actually, I kinda do. It kinda intimidates me, though. I forgot you were so…”

“Big?” John ventured a guess.

“Long.”

“What’s the difference?”

Dennis chuckled as his eyes trailed down from John’s bare, glistening chest to his midriff, deep in thought. He felt conflicted, scared, out of place. Being happy with someone and making them feel even more so was his dream, and while this was the most exhilarating thing he’d ever done, it left him feeling awkward. He'd never been more vulnerable to John before, so attached to him, so entirely at his mercy. That shock of total devotion and enjoyment made him dread what would happen if it became a deep love with complete loyalty and faithfulness. He wasn’t sure he could do it again.

It all led him to ask one question: “What are we doing?”

“Uh,” Befuddled, John glanced around the room, his confused stare eventually landing back on Dennis. “I believe it’s called, ‘pillow talk.’”

“No, I mean us. If there even _is_ an us?”

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too,” After running his lanky fingers through his now dirty hair, he rubbed the back of his neck, then let his hand drop to the blankets. “First, we were arguing and then the next thing–”

“We’re going down on each other.”

“Well, _I_ went down,” John said, smirking. “But yeah, I mean, I don’t– I know how _I_ feel, but _you_? What are you thinking?”

The truth was he had a lot of things going on in his head; the many what-ifs, whether they were doing this out of frustration or if this was something real. He wanted real, there was no denying it, but not too quickly. In the end, Dennis decided it was time for a long chat. “I’m thinking… we need a few drinks for this conversation.”

That only made John’s stomach turn even further. He already had an idea of how this would go. Not well. Sitting there, naked in more ways than one, and watching an equally disrobed Dennis walk across from the bedroom to the kitchen, he could feel his heartbeat quickening. Not just from uncertainty and anxiety; from how perfectly built he was.

He gaped at the six-pack he forgot Dennis had, then at his own belly, becoming embarrassed, even slightly jealous. But seeing Dennis, in all his glory, it struck John that it didn't matter. None of it did. All their flaws, their physical makeup and ethnicities were, in the end, beside the point. What mattered was that they were together, happy, and for that, John was grateful. He couldn’t remember why he was upset before.

Deciding to join Dennis in the kitchen, John scooted to the edge of the bed, plucked up his boxers and slid them on. He sauntered in and stopped six feet away from him, observing him make their drinks in silence.

Out of the corner of Dennis’ vision, he caught sight of him and gasped, grabbing his chest. He didn’t expect John to be standing there like a psycho waiting to stab him. “Oh, shit, you scared me!”

John beamed, his torso rapidly jerking from his semi-stifled laughter. “I’m sorry,” he said, chortling the whole time.

“Yeah, sure. Here,” He handed him a margarita. “That’s probably around forty proof, so be careful.”

“What, you’re worried I might do something crazy?” he asked jokingly, talking into his glass.

“I think you’ve hit the limit; letting me back in and sleeping with me after what I put you through. I’m surprised you gave me a second chance, to be honest.”

“Normally, I don’t,” John set the drink down and rested his clasped hands down beside it on the counter. “But you do something to me.”

An expression of intrigue donned on his face. “ _Do_ I?” Suddenly, he felt cocky that, _he_ , Dennis Gant, could do something for _the_ John Truman Carter, someone almost everyone wanted to get under.

Once again, John bit his lower lip, trying to be strong and not crack a smile. “Yeah, you always have.”

Even after hearing it again, he still didn’t know what to say. Knowing what John felt that whole time made his actions that much more callous. “Oh, John,” At that point, he wanted to give him a hug, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For what I did, how I treated you. If I knew–”

“Well, you didn’t,” he said, coming off more irritable than he meant to. “That’s mostly my fault. I never said anything. Then again, there was nobody in say anything to,” John stared into his drink, thinking back to the day when Dennis needed comfort. He could have said something then. If it would have helped was another question. Perhaps it still would’ve been bad timing. Following a deep breath, he went on, “Anyway, it’s out there now.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I, um, assumed — I guess I shouldn’t have _assumed_ anything — that you were… well…”

“Straight?” He smiled at him fondly, then echoed what he’d heard years ago in his near-death experience. “I can’t explain it. It’s just you. Also, can you get dressed? Because you are _painfully_ distracting to me right now.”

He’d almost forgotten that he was stark naked. A nice scarlet blush graced his dark complexion. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry,” He bolted off to the bedroom, put on a pair of lounge bottoms and quickly came back, continuing the conversation. “I’ll admit,” Dennis took a swig of his margarita and winced as it burned all the way down. “I’m honoured,” he managed past his post-chug coughs.

“You don’t have to be. I’m nothing special.”

“Are you kidding?” It just about made him upset to hear him talk like that. “Have you _seen_ yourself?”

“Have _you_?” John brandished his hands over his stomach, with the flab he could never get rid of and faded stretch marks.

“John, forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn here, but you are _way_ out of my league,” Though his statement received a scoff in response, he kept going. “Tall, handsome, good-natured, funny, and your smile is just so… infectious and heartwarming,” Once he got one of those infectious, heartwarming smiles, he couldn’t help but do the same. “Like that. And I don’t deserve you.”

John thrust his finger, poking the air between them. “See, _that_ we can agree on.” 

After they shared a giggle, Dennis felt the need to get back on track, conversation wise. “So, do you still feel something for me, or was this just a one-time, passionate, hate-filled moment?” 

John had to take a moment to think, which was probably part of the problem. The more he thought, the more he second-guessed himself. So for once, he simply said what was on his mind. “Well, I certainly don’t _hate_ you — never could, even if I tried — but I _do_ still feel… _something_ , yeah. But what about _you_?” 

Even though he expected this question, he was taken aback. What could he say? There was something there, he just needed time to figure out what that something was. “I, uh–” 

Seeing the uncertainty in his countenance, hearing the hesitation in his voice instantly cut his heart in two. He threw everything out there, bearing his soul, and what for? This? “Forget it,” John muttered as he got up to gather his things and leave. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m such an idiot!” 

Dennis wasted no time in scrambling after John. “Wait, wait, wait. John, stop!” He was practically shocked when he did and turned to hear him out. “Look, this is new territory for me–” 

“Me too,” John interjected, but Dennis talked over him. 

“– Not just being with another man, but with you. I never thought–” 

“Stop making excuses. If you’re not attracted to me just say it.” 

“I’m not making excuses, but I’ve been away a while. I need to get to know you again. I need time to adjust. You can understand that, right? You’ve gotta feel the same way.” 

“No, actually, I don’t,” he said, his voice coming along with a noticeable quaver. “I doubted for a second, but it just felt right, you know?” 

“I get that, but… it’s _you_.” 

“So?” he rasped out. “Man, woman, what’s the difference, except for obvious physical contrasts?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what?!” 

“It– I don’t want to screw things up. _Again_. You’ve been through enough as it is. You don’t need _more_ drama. I want to do this right, and after… she-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, I don’t know if–” 

“Oh, don’t compare your ex-girlfriend to me. She was a bitch!” Responding to the stunned look he got, he added, “What? She _was!_ Probably _still_ is.” 

“Okay, John,” he spoke in a soothing voice. “I know you didn’t exactly like her–” 

John wheezed out a sarcastic chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly.” 

“– But this isn’t about her. This is about us. I want this, intimate or not, but I hope that you can do me a favour and just go slow. Okay?” 

“If you’re worried about disappointing me–” 

“I’m worried about hurting you, John. I know, a little late for that, but I’m trying,” Dennis’ eyes locked on to John’s hand, debating if he should hold it or not. He supposed now likely wasn’t the best time. “You were all I thought about while was I gone.” 

His eyes began to well up a second time that morning. That was all he needed to hear; that he still cared. “Was I?” 

“Yeah. How you felt, what you might have went through,” It became harder for him to speak without sobbing. He was almost afraid to, having never shown this side of himself before. But John was his friend once; surely, he could around him. “I’ve missed you, man,” Dennis uttered, nearly whispering. “I really–” 

Before either of them had a chance to full-on bawl their eyes out, John took it upon himself to stroll up to him and wrap his arms tightly around him, both relishing in their body heat and the touch of their skin. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Neither wanted to ruin the moment with words. That was until… 

“I do love you,” Dennis whimpered. 

John placed his hand on the back of his head and closed his eyes. “Shhh.”

“I do, but I’m scared.” 

Gently, John pulled back and gave him a sincere look, his maple-brown eyes telling him that there was no need to worry. “You don’t have to be.” 

Dennis’ dark-chocolate-brown eyes flitted to John’s thin, pink lips, temptation urging him to move forward. However, the evident drowsiness on John’s face told him that he was better off going to sleep. “Maybe we should rest.” 

Agreeing that a snooze sounded like a wonderful idea, John moved to the bedroom and got dressed. 

“What are you doing?” 

Shirt in hand, John gestured out the door. “Going home, hibernate for a few hours.”

“You can stay. If you want to. It’s early, and you haven’t slept. I don’t want you to get hurt driving.”

John began dressing, regardless, stepping into his pristine, pressed trousers. Shrugging into his navy-blue pullover, he turned and said, “I’ll cab it.”

In the same tone as a nagging parent, Dennis uttered, “John.”

He cast only the slightest of glances at the clock, which read as five-thirty-six in the morning, then at the early dawn sky out the window before going back to Dennis. He didn’t look forward to driving, let alone being on his own.

_What am I doing here?_ John asked himself.

He was dating Roxanne. Plus, he had a weird, confusing relationship with Lucy, and, in all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure what his feelings were for Dennis yet, either. Maybe he _did_ have things to work through.

“I, uh… I… can’t be here right now,” John finally said.

“John, what–?”

“I’m sorry, Dennis. I can’t do this.”

With that, John left Dennis in a mystified stupor. With that, John left Dennis in a mystified stupor. He was unsure as to why he felt surprised — even he said it was too soon — but John seemed so free from doubt before. What changed his mind?


	5. Like a Gunshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend rears its ugly head, prompting Lucy to treat John a bit differently.

Around the outside of the hospital was nothing but snow, minus the ambulance bay entrance. Around the corner and down the road was a dark-coloured Jeep which drove into the parking garage. Its driver, John Carter, pulled it into his respective space and sat there a while after shutting off the ignition. 

John had a good mind to back out and leave. He’d give anything to be with Dennis, spending all day together, taking a walk in Grant Park or staying inside and talking, like they used to. However, it was delusional of him to think they would ever be the same again. That conflict between the past and reality had him agonised. Though it gave him an excuse to rest, and avoid his annoying med student.

_Was I that awful with Benton?_ John wondered to himself.

Reluctantly, he stepped out of the car, sleep crumpling him, as he stood still and tried to keep it under control. A quick glance at other people on the streets left him feeling envious of their seemingly endless energy. However, the longer John remained motionless the more he realised it wasn’t simple lethargy. More like disoriented and lightheaded. He couldn’t focus, and he could’t find his breath.

Before he had a chance to collapse, John whipped out his pager and beeped Peter for help. Soon after, his eyes scrolled back into his head and before long, he hit the pavement. Thankfully, though he was unaware of this, a Good Samaritan came along and got assistance from the paramedics who had just dropped off another patient. They were able to get him inside the hospital, where John worked.

“What’ve we got?” Mark asked the paramedics.

For a few seconds, he hesitated to reply, but when another one of them began to shift John’s head into position for the immobiliser, nobody had to say anything.

“Oh, God. Carter? What happened?”

“Someone saw him go down on the sidewalk. BP’s pretty low. Ninety palp.”

In the ensuing seconds, the paramedics continued to rush John into Trauma Room One, with Mark and a couple of nurses right beside the stretcher. Others gawked at the sight, while some were completely expecting this to happen again. He was still sick, after all. One doctor had no idea.

“Lucy!” Mark waved her over, signalling her to come and help.

Once she did, she wished she hadn’t. The sight of her resident, pale and virtually cyanotic, had left her stunned. “Doctor Carter??”

Mark checked for signs of oxygen being moved; there was none. “Was he breathing when you found him?”

“Yes. Hyperventilating, actually.”

One of the nurses announced, “Pulse is forty and dropping.”

“Intubation tray?” Lucy offered.

“No, he’s come back from this before. Give him a few seconds.”

Seconds came and went. There was no change.

“Bradying down to thirty-five now.”

“Doctor Greene, he’s not moving air,” Lucy said, voice trembling.

“Give him a few seconds!”

“He doesn’t have sec–” An abrupt, harsh inhale cut Lucy right off, and she let out a breath of solace of her own. Almost surprised to see him come around, she uttered, “He’s back.”

“See? Being stubborn pays off sometimes,” Taking a quick look at the monitor, Mark saw that his heart rate was still on the low side. “Maybe put him on a round of Atropine to help him along. Let me know when he wakes up.”

Lucy nodded. “I’ll stay with him.”

“No, you have patients. He’ll be fine. It’ll help to keep yourself busy.”

As Lucy followed him out, she raised a question, “You said you he came back from this before. Is there something wrong with him?”

“I think it would be best if you asked him yourself.”

“But there is, isn’t there?”

Mark stopped, turned and stared at her with such intent. “There was something, but he’s better now.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“Look, just focus on other things, okay? It’s not going to do you any good worrying about it, _believe_ me.”

Lucy tried to shake off the feeling that he might die. It was tougher than she thought.Lucy tried to shake off the feeling that he might die. It was tougher than she thought. She cared deeply for him, and it proved to be difficult to not right now. Instead of doing as she had been told, Lucy went back inside the Trauma Room, pulled up a stool and breathed heavily as she eased herself down and watched John.

She brushed back a few strands of John’s hair, completely enamoured with him as she did so. The sensation had made him open his eyes, and quickly, she drew her hand away.

For the longest time, he simply stared at her, squinting through the bleariness in his eyes. Eventually, the sweet, kind and familiar face of Lucy’s became clearer. “Lucy?”

“Hey,” she said in a whisper, smiling broadly. “You, uh, had a bit of an accident, but you’re okay now. I think.”

He looked around the room, immediately took in his surroundings, and realised he was in the ER. Glancing down, he noticed the electrodes on his chest, the IVs in his arm and his eyes trailed up from the needle and to the monitor. A frustrated moan escaped from John. He’d been admitted.

Not on his watch.

John shot out of the gurney, ripping out the needle and tearing off the electrodes. It was a mere annoyance, but that wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt. He just didn’t care in that instant.

“Woah! Doctor Carter, I think you need to stay put.”

“No. No, I am not doing this again!” Speedily, he buttoned up his shirt and slid his arms into his coat. “I am fine. Great, excellent,” He then reiterated his case in shoddy Spanish, “ _Very good!_ ”

“You stopped breathing,” she said. “I would have intubated if Doctor Greene didn’t stop me.”

“ _You?_ ” he asked incredulously. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m serious! You almost died.”

His shoulders slumped with his sigh. There was no point in denying it. The first few times he heard those three words, you almost died, it scared the crap out of him. These days, it didn’t faze him. The fact that he was standing here at all did, however. He had a DNR order. How could he be alive, unless…?

“Did you bring me back?”

“You came back on your own,” she replied. “The most we gave you was Atropine.”

A faint smile appeared, and a feeling of relief washed over him. The last thing he wanted them to do was waste resources on him when there were other patients who needed it more.

“You’ve got a little… something,” Lucy pointed at John’s slightly bare chest. “Right there.”

John’s eyes immediately darted to where she referred, only to realise he couldn’t, physically. So, he grabbed a bedpan and used it to see. The image distorted, like a funhouse mirror, although a splotch of white could be seen. He had a pretty good idea of what that splotch was.

_I should have showered before I came in,_ he thought.

She reached out for his chest. “Want me to–?” 

“No!” he shouted, wrenching away from her. After a sharp exhale, he calmed down a bit, feeling downright nauseous once everything else had disappeared. John put the back of his trembling hand over his mouth, hoping it would hold it back. Once more, muffled and as shaky as his limbs, he answered, “No, I’m fine. I've got it.” 

“You sure? Because I can get Doctor Greene.” 

“No, don’t. He doesn't need this right now,” John waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ll be okay, I just need a minute.” 

“Okay…” Lucy lingered around him like a shadow and watched him anxiously fidget. 

He caught sight of her behind him and shot her a look of utter frustration. John droned in an annoyed manner, “ _Alone, please_?”

No part of her wanted to leave his side, not now. Something was obviously wrong; she could tell just by looking at him. She also didn't want to piss him off any further, so she stepped out of the room without saying another word, leaving him to be with his thoughts. 

His thoughts, however, were nothing short of flummoxed. John still wished to die by his own hand, but at the same time, he had someone to live for again. Someone who lied, but someone nonetheless. 

John cradled his head in his hands and groaned in frustration. Why couldn’t things be simpler? Why couldn’t he go back two years and stop all of this from happening? He would be healthy again, Dennis might not have faked his death and they might be in a better relationship. Although, if he did go back in time and fixed things, there would be no reason for it in the first place. 

Now that he had officially given himself a headache, John left the room, and headed for the lounge. Along the way, Lucy slid up beside him and walked with him. “Now what?” he asked.

“I was just checking in.” 

“It’s barely even been a minute.” 

“I know, but I wanted to ask,” Just before the two went inside, Lucy stopped him outside the door. “What’s going on? You come in here, not breathing, your heart rate at a whopping forty-seven–” 

“I’m…” John hesitated for a moment, looking at everybody else. None of them appeared to pay any attention, but he still wanted some privacy. He pushed open the door and peered around, checking if the coast was clear. Once he surmised that it was, he entered, figuring Lucy would follow him again. He turned and saw he was right, then continued, “I don’t want to get into details about it, but I was ill for a long time. I’m not dying, yet, just… still having trouble getting past the symptoms.”

At last, she got something out of the man who usually preferred to keep to himself around her. “What is it? Your heart?” 

“Yeah. As I said, no details. But I will be okay,” Seeing Lucy about to say something else, John cut her off before she could, knowing full well what she was going to add. “And no treating me like a patient, okay? I've had enough of that already.” 

“You got it, boss.” 

A frown of repulsion came over him. “Don’t… call me that.” 

“You are, though.” 

“I know, but… don’t,” he reiterated while he opened his locker. 

Kerry Weaver stepped in, an odd air of concern about her, which lessened when she saw John. “Thank God! I was worried. You didn’t come in after your shift.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” 

“It’s alright, Carter. You okay?” 

As he put his stethoscope around his neck he nodded, despite the sharp pangs of hunger and his cold, clammy sweat breaking out. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. 

“Good. Okay,” she said in a commanding undertone. “We got two GSWs coming in. I suggest you both get ready.” 

Both of them watched Kerry grab her things, slip into her doctor’s coat and leave, no other words or demands spoken. They looked at each other. 

“ _Are_ you okay?” Lucy asked one last time. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” John almost mumbled on his exhale, making his exit. 


	6. I Don’t Want to Fight the Tide

Screaming and crying cut through the air. All from one man, a patient. There was another who was worse off, bleeding profusely from his eye socket. One went to Truama One while the other was moved into Sutures. The other man wailed on and on about how it was an accident, how horrible he felt. It made it all the more difficult for the doctors to concentrate.

While struggling with hearing and poor visuals from the excessive bleeding, Mark suggested, “Carter, why don’t you go treat the guy with the arm LAC.”

“What?” John demanded in affront. “I’m–!”

“Now, Carter! I can’t think straight in here.”

“Is this because of what happened earlier?” he asked, almost whispering.

“Not here. Just go.”

“Because if it is, it means you’re doing it again.”

“Carter, I’m not gonna say it again after this,” A frown of annoyance wrinkled Mark’s brow. “Go.”

Darkness crossed John’s face. It was bad enough that Lucy started regarding him differently, now he still had to deal with it from them, and in front of her. John ripped off his gloves and with a swoop of his arm, he threw them across the room and stormed away.

Mark could see the concern in Lucy’s eyes. He needed her there, her attention entirely on the patient and not on her attending, although it was frivolous to even bother either way. The patient was shot in the head, there was grey matter on the backboard, and, when it came to Lucy, she obviously felt something for John. Regardless, Mark knew the strained, dysfunctional relationship they had, and dysfunction was not what John needed right now. Then again, maybe seeing Mark wasn’t what he needed either. Thinking back two years ago, he surmised he wasn’t.

“We’re just gonna leave him?” Lucy asked.

Ignoring her, not wanting to hear any more about it, Mark defeatedly pulled off his gloves and tossed them in a bin. “Stop compressions. I’m calling it. Time of death… o’ nine seventeen hundred.”

* * *

“I don’t know why he shot,” the man said, looking the other way as John stitched his arm up. “Why he lost it… He could have just talked to me.”

“Maybe he was scared,” John answered, tone flat.

“He didn’t have to be. I mean, it was me. We were friends. I wasn’t gonna hurt him,” He looked at the room his friend was in, his view almost obscured by other doctors and equipment in the room between them. “I didn’t mean to. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

The man’s words stuck with John, like paper to glue. As it sunk in further, he could feel it twisting and turning in his stomach. Both John and Dennis were scared; one of getting their heart broken again, the other for something they did without thinking. In that moment, he finally understood, and he had to do something about it before could Dennis run again.

Slowly, John rose to his feet and asked Chuny, “Do you think you can get Lucy to finish this?”

“Lucy?” she echoed, making sure she heard him correctly. “Really?”

“She’s ready.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just need to… take care of something.”

Almost mindlessly, with one thought in mind, John made his way through the hall, side-stepping past doctors and nurses, one of whom was Kerry.

“Carter. I’m glad I caught you. We need some extra hands this coming week.”

“Not now, Doctor Weaver.”

“If you could just–”

“Later!” John snapped unwittingly. He would have gone back to apologise, but there was no time.

“Where are you going?” Kerry demanded. “We’re swamped! Carter!”

He ignored every word, and blew through the sliding doors, heading for his car. Once he got there, he realised he still had his gloves and stethoscope on. He ripped both off, threw them in the back and started the engine.

After John most likely committed multiple driving violations, he made it to Dennis’ apartment building. He tugged and tugged at the car door handle repeatedly until it hit him that he needed to put it in park first. One moment of forgetfulness later, John opened it, damn near jumping out of the vehicle.

John arrived at Dennis’ apartment. It took everything out of him just to get up the stairs, heart beating and breathing at a rapid pace. At this point, he didn’t care. Nothing was going to stop him, not even death. 

First, a few moments of painful breathing and hesitation came before he knocked on the door. There was no answer. 

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me…” John moaned, panicked. He then banged his fist against it, over and over. “Dennis!”

At least, the door opened, stalling John’s umpteenth knock. Dennis was on the other side, stunned by his abrupt presence. “What are you doing here?”

Shakily, John exhaled. Soon after that, every single word he spoke came tumbling out in a rush. “I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t a good friend. I wasn’t there and I should have been and I know you’ve done some stupid things. I don’t care about that — I’m not mad — and I will be here, no matter what happens. Okay? So, please, please, don’t run away from me again. I ca-I can’t–!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dennis put a comforting, reassuring hand on John’s arm. “John, calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me,” he uttered in a hushed tone.

“Unless someone shoots me–”

John whimpered out, “Don’t talk like that.”

“Sorry,” A brief, thin-lipped smile cropped up on Dennis’ face. “You have my word, I won’t leave you.”

Whether it was the affirmation or the way Dennis looked at him, John didn’t know, but he found himself becoming increasingly absorbed by him. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame. John hastily approached Dennis and kissed him passionately on his full lips, their tongues entwined.

The two went inside, all the while locked together, stepping until John had Dennis against the wall. He took advantage of Dennis’ position and started kissing his neck, his lips rolling over his skin repeatedly.

Dennis knew full well where this was headed, and for some strange reason, he wanted it to. “I thought… we were… taking it slow,” he managed to get out in between laboured breaths

John paused long enough to say, “I can’t. Not with you.”

“I’m fine with that.”

John gave him a gentle grin. “You’re sure?” The sudden stroke of his cock was enough of an answer. Sharply, he inhaled, hitched his breath momentarily and let it out with a stutter. “Good enough for me,” he said. “But you might be in for a surprise.”

A smirk tugged up the corners of Dennis’ mouth. “I’m counting on it.”


	7. Afterglow

For a long time afterwards, there was nothing but silence. The two laid there, both naked and confused. Being intimate was supposed to be a deeply moving experience, or so they thought. Then again, it was their first time together. For one, their first time with someone intersex. He wasn’t even sure if he should utter that word to him.

Eventually, Dennis looked over at John, who kept his eyes on the ceiling. He finally said, “That was… interesting.”

Hearing this, worry rolled through John like a chilled, dark wave. Did he do something wrong? Did he look wrong? Soon, the uncertainty made him feel insecure and prompted him to pull the sheets up to his neck. He rolled onto his side, eyeing him apprehensively. “Was it not good?”

“What?” Dennis’ voice stretched high, almost as if he was hurt. “No. No, it’s just– I wasn’t expecting that.”

John loosened up, only slightly, and asked in jest, “What, an extra hole?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, nervously laughing, then chose his next words carefully. “I mean, I’m not offended by it. I’ve heard of… that, but never–”

“Well, I’ve never had anything slid– No, no, _shoved_ up there before, so we’re even.”

“Sorry,” A nice shade of scarlet graced Dennis’ cheeks. “It was a tight fit. You’re not bleeding, are you?”

“Umm,” John felt around gingerly. When he brought his hand up again, some drops of red showed. “A little, but it should heal.”

“Hope so. Does it… function?”

The look John gave him was one of those looks people would get when they were spoken to in a different language. “What?”

“Either one set of… you know… works and the other doesn’t. So, which one does?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, becoming irate. “Why are we even talking about that?”

Dennis rolled out of bed and as he slipped on his boxers, he said, “I’m just curious. If you’re not comfortable talking about it, I’ll drop it. I will say, though, I feel amazing right now.”

John’s voice came as soft as his gaze. “You _felt_ amazing.”

In mild deprecation, Dennis rolled his eyes, but seeing how lovable and sweet John was in that moment, he had to chuckle with genuine mirth. Dennis jerked his head at the doctor’s coat John left on the floor. “I take it from the white coat that you were working?” he ventured.

He did a double-take on it, snickering, up until realisation struck him harder than a shot of whiskey. “Oh, shit!” John scrambled to get dressed.

A hearty laugh wheezed out of Dennis’ mouth. “Look, why don’t you just stay here?”

“Are you kidding me?” John demanded. “Weaver was already pissed off at me for leaving in the first place. It’s been–” He picked up his watch and glanced at it. “ _Thirty minutes_?!” he shrieked.

“Twenty of that was us lying there, spacing out,” Dennis stated. “Seriously, stay. I want you to.”

“Oh,” he uttered and put a hand to his chest, nearly brought to happy tears. Temptation overwhelmed him, but he quickly waved it off like some kind of annoying bug buzzing around him. “No, no, no. I have to leave now before I don’t leave at all.”

“Okay,” Though Dennis nodded along, he still wasn’t convinced he should go, especially after what happened the last time he was here, with a fast heart rate and subsequently passing out. Regardless of how he felt, he kept quiet. “Drive safe.”

John donned an appreciative smile. “I’ll come by when I get off.”

“You mean you didn’t thirty minutes ago?” Dennis asked, simpering.

His grin grew, briefly crinkling up his nose and eyes, eventually softening. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just come back.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Kerry was scrambling around, trying to get as many doctors to fill-in as she could. Some were out sick, most of them couldn’t be bothered. “Not a single white coat in this place that isn’t busy,” she muttered as she slammed the phone down. “Where the hell is Carter?” Kerry demanded. “Someone page him.”

“I have,” Jerry said. “Three times. He’s not answering.”

“Well, try again! And get a hold of Kovač, let him know he’s now on-call.”

Lucy couldn’t help but overhear. Mostly because she did it on purpose. She leaned over the chart tray and flipped through aimlessly, attempting to appear active. “Has he done this before?”

“Once,” Jerry replied. He eased himself down on the front desk, his back to the ambulance bay entrance. “He fled to Atlanta.”

“But he came back, right?”

“Only because he _had_ to. He was kinda forced to come back. Can’t say I blame–” Catching sight of the glare Kerry had fixed on him, he cleared his throat. “I should get back to work.”

“Good idea,” Kerry flatly told him. “I’m going to help clear this board. Call me if he shows up.”

Jerry spotted John at the far end of the ambulance bay entry and refused to say anything about it to Kerry. The last thing he needed was to have her ragging on him, and Jerry knew it. “You got it.”

After the coast was clear, Lucy waved him over, a subtle yet still noticeable gesture to get him to come inside quicker. Once he was closer to her, she whispered, “Where were you?”

Deep down, proud as he was of finally feeling as though he could be his true self, John wanted to blurt out about having the most incredible sex he ever had, but in the end, he didn’t want to admit anything. Instead, he parried, “Is Weaver angry with me?”

“Angry is one word for it,” Jerry sniffed deep, an expression akin to someone who had just discovered a foul odor, even though it was actually quite pleasant, like pinapples. “What’s that smell?”

“KY gel,” John responded without looking up from a chart, without hesitation and without even thinking. It wasn’t until seconds later that he realised what had left his mouth. His countenance crimsoned. “Uhh–”

“I knew it,” Lucy said. “You had sex, I could tell.”

“What? _No_!”

“You do have that glow…” Jerry tagged on.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” While he tried his best to appear absorbed in the chart he was looking, he could still feel their eyes on him. With a sigh, he gave them his full attention and met their expectant eyes. ”Okay, fine. I had sex, and it was… _extremely intense_!” John grinned widely, his eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’ve never– Have either of you felt this tingling sensation in your lower belly and thighs afterwards?”

Jerry scrunched up his face in puzzlement. “No?”

Nodding along, Lucy said, “Nerve-related. You must be hypersensitive.”

“That’s just it, I haven’t felt anything like this in…” John paused to think of a time when he felt this great. Nothing came to mind. “ _Ever_.”

“And I’ve never seen you this happy. She must be pretty special.”

For a few seconds, John debated whether to admit anything more. By now, what was the harm? “That’s… _he_ , actually, Lucy.”

“ _He_?” she incredulously echoed. Severe disappointment flowed through her veins. “I didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not. I don’t even look at men a second time,” he answered, then smiled fondly, more than a little ambivalent about how he felt for Dennis. He loved him but also hated his guts. For all that, however, he still wanted to be with him. “It’s just him. He pulled me in and now I can’t let go. I–” He then caught sight of Kerry coming towards him in a way that said she was beyond pissed off. “Uh-oh.”

“Carter!” Kerry barked. “You’ve been gone for over thirty minutes! Where the hell were you?”

“I, uh, had a small issue to take care of.”

With a smirk, Lucy remarked, “Not _that_ small, I hope.”

While leaning over to pick up a chart, he murmured in her ear, jokingly, “I’ve seen bigger…”

* * *

When John went back to Dennis’ place that night, he saw him sitting on the couch, clasping his hands and staring directly at him. Instantly, he began to feel uneasy. 

“We need to talk,” Dennis said, his voice low and earnest. “About us.”

Nodding slowly, John perched himself beside him. Nervousness fervently twisted and rolled around in his stomach like an acrobat on caffeine. “Okay.”

“You know how I wanted to take things slow? I still think we should. Not that I didn’t enjoy what we did. I mean, that was–”

A mischievous chuckle burst out of John, knowing exactly what he was going to say, and he nodded his assent once more.

“But you and I have things to take care of first. You know that,” Dennis looked down at his hands for a moment, enfolded between his knees, then held a steady gaze on him. “We can’t be doing this.”

“No, you’re right. I know.”

“So… we agree, we should stop?”

John’s eyes shifted from Dennis’ to his full lips. Unconsciously, he drew closer, his sights locked on the man’s mouth the entire time. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. We… can’t. It’s wrong,” About ten percent of him believed it; the other ninety craved his touch and longed for the ineffable bliss of fucking each other’s brains out. Still, he kept going, if nothing more than to convince himself. “You still have Roxanne, right?”

John got even closer, transfixed by his desire to rip his clothes off. “Uh-huh.”

Half chiding and half begging for it, Dennis whispered, “John.”

Neither of them had to touch to feel as turned on as they were. All that did it was the sensation of their warm breath on their skin, bringing up goosebumps.

Before either of them knew it, their lips meshed and their tongues entwined. Heavily breathing, they pawed at each other, trying to undress one another, all the while kissing passionately.

John felt dizzy and something of a flutter in his chest but thought nothing of it, figuring it was merely a reaction. He kissed harder, making his teeth hurt. Only a sudden urge to faint had stopped him, though he never fully passed out.

Dennis caught him before he fell face-first into his chest. “Woah, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just–” He fought off another need to collapse, feeling as though his brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen. “I think maybe you should be on top again.”

“Or we could not do anything. You don’t look so good.”

It was an understatement, to say the least. John appeared pale and weak, his hands shaking badly as he shifted into a position that was easy for Dennis to take him.

“I’m fine,” he lied, even though a part of him knew Dennis wasn’t stupid. His dizziness grew. “Been a while since I’ve felt that.”

“All the more reason for you to lay down. Here,” Dennis rose to his feet, and helped him into a comfortable position, ignoring the man’s moans of protest. While he did, he felt John’s slow heartbeat. _Weird_ , he thought. _Shouldn’t it be higher than this?_ “I’m calling an ambulance.”

Without hesitation, John grabbed Dennis’ hand and pulled him back to his side. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes said, “Don’t.”

“There’s something wrong.”

Languidly, slowly, he shook his head. “No point.”

“What do you mean there’s no point?” Dennis blurted out in a panic. “I have to do something!”

John’s hand squeezed Dennis’ in the hopes it would calm his nerves. It did to an extent. “Stay.”

“I am, but–”

“Don’t.”

“What is going on?”

“Nothing,” John breathed out. “Promise.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

His eyes rolled back into his head, but not because he was about to pass out. He was annoyed. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, what, because I lied to you for two years–”

“Dennis…” John groaned with vexation.

“– I get the same treatment, a taste of my own medicine for it?”

Accepting that there was no way to end this conversation, John decided to add to it. He jumped up and dismissed the head rush he got as a result. “You know what? Yes!” he barked. “You were gone for two years! How the hell am I supposed to trust you now?”

“You are _such_ a hypocrite!”

“ _I’m_ the hypocrite?!”

“Yes, you are! I was honest with you. Why can’t you do the same for me?”

“Maybe because I don’t trust you well enough.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Dennis asked.

John folded his arms and glared at him. “Well, I’m not one to take off when things get a little tough.”

Dennis clenched his teeth, staring dead into his eyes with an expression of infinite anger. “That’s not–!” he started to growl.

“You know that’s why. You got sick and tired of Benton, sick and tired of me, you saw an out and you ran!”

“I never got tired of you.”

“Oh, really?” His throat constricted, making it difficult to get out what he wanted to ask, but for all that, he still could, despite being afraid to know the truth. “If you hadn’t seen me that day, would you have ever come back?”

A long moment of silence passed. Two seconds became ten. Dennis’ lack of response was all John needed to know how little he meant.

Breaking the overwhelming silence, John let out a short, bitter laugh. “Okay. I get it. Never got tired of me, yet you never actively looked for me!”

Before John had the chance to contradict himself and walk out, Dennis spoke up and stopped him. “I did.”

He stood frozen, not daring to look at him, his eyes fixed upon the door.

Dennis explained further, “When you were in Atlanta, in the hospital.”

That was when his attention was caught. John whirled around to face him with a raised eyebrow. “How do you know about that?”

“I worked there. Med student. I saw your name on the board, and I thought I’d try and see you. The problem was I didn’t know how to tell you, and if you were sick, I didn’t want to make things worse. So, I went back to Chicago, and I saw you again, with Benton. I thought it would be better if I waited. Guess I waited too long.”

“Two years.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” John said, his voice sharp and aggressive. “ _Two years!_ Everything I went through, all the guilt and grief I felt didn’t mean a damn thing, did it? I starved myself practically to death because I stopped caring about myself, I almost–!” He snapped his mouth shut, deciding it wasn’t worth spouting off everything he did or didn’t do to himself and how that affected those around him. He knew it wouldn’t matter. Still, it didn’t stop him from wanting to break down and cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here.”

Dennis moved closer towards him, slowly and cautiously, avoiding making him even more upset. As he did, he replied, “I think, in spite of this, you still have hope that something good can come out of this.”

John almost lost it, just about to weep, but he stopped himself. Then it happened again, except this time he couldn’t hold it back any more. He was just so tired of it; feeling so conflicted about it all, loving him, loathing him, pining for him, wishing he would go away. John didn’t know what he wanted now.

For a moment, Dennis kept to himself. Part of him didn’t want to overstep his bounds, but another part wanted to hold him. It broke his heart to see him this way. In the end, Dennis put one hand on John’s shoulder and hauled him in for an embrace, one that he didn’t seem to mind getting. In time, his other arm wrapped around his lower back.

The two held each other for the longest time, neither wanting it to end. This was the most intimate they’d been, aside from having sex. They’d take the welcome hug over sex any day. Lately, it seemed they only screwed around to get their cravings out of the way. This was not what either of them wanted, and somebody had to make the first move forward in the right direction. Yet neither of them wanted to do that either. They were happy where they were, wrong as it was.


	8. Six Days, Seven Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets a bit weird. Again, read the tags, and if it seems like it isn’t for you any more, you’re not obligated to read it. If you decide to stay, thank you.

Something had been bothering John ever since he and Dennis were intimate; something nagging. He couldn’t do anything about it now, though, while he saw to a patient. Not that he paid much attention. All he could think about was the urine sample he had stored away and getting some privacy.

“You know, it wasn’t until a night ago, when I noticed was still a bit sore,” the man said. “It was cold, too, so it could have been that.”

“Mm-hm…” John droned, with a lack of interest, his focus fixed on a random spot on the floor.

“In fact, I think–” He noticed his doctor appearing as though he might pass out. “You alright, doc?”

Sharply, John inhaled and he widened his eyes, hoping it would somehow keep him from falling asleep, giving him his full, undivided attention now. “Yeah,” he lied as a hot flash surged through him, starting at the crown of his head and stopping at his chest. “Let’s not worry about me, though. What seems to be the problem?”

The man stared at him as if he’d just been insulted. He was, slightly. “My knee?”

John’s sights were once again shifting elsewhere, this time trying to think back to a point where it was mentioned. “Yeah…?” he drawled in question.

“I had surgery done on it two weeks ago, and it still hurts.”

“Okay, well, mister…” He struggled for a while to remember the guy’s name.

“Johnson.”

“Johnson,” Vaguely, John gestured at him before grabbing the patient folder and using it as a make-shift fan. “Right. Well, it’s only been two weeks, give it time, and I’m sure it’ll stop.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Come back in and we’ll take another look.”

John was halfway out the door when Lydia grabbed his attention. “Doctor Carter?”

He whirled around, his expression as manic as a med student ten minutes before final a assessment from their resident. “Yeah?”

“Is that it?”

“Yes,” he answered, irritation in his voice. “but if you want a second opinion, by all means, go for it!” John burst through the door and stormed away.

Minutes later, John rushed into the medical cabinet, frantically searching for something. Vials clanked, pill bottles rattled. Eventually, he spotted it. He stood on his tiptoes to reach the very top of the shelf and grabbed a small, skinny box. In the process, he lost his balance and stumbled backwards against the metal grated wall.

Carol saw it happen and rushed to help. “You okay, Carter?”

As soon as he heard her, he hastily stuffed the box in his doctor’s coat, hoping to God she didn’t see him do it. He felt his chest pounding, scared and worried out of his mind. It was a full five seconds before he finally responded. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, so nervous that his voice went up a few pitches. A clear of his throat and he tried again, this time sounding less apprehensive. “Yeah. I’m good. Just looking for the…” John faked a glance at the medications and plucked up a random bottle of pills. “Ah! Morphine.”

“Okay. Except that’s Vicodin,” Carol tilted her head to one side, sliding him a sceptical gaze. “Carter, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” His utterance spiked again.

She then reached a level of incredulity that she didn’t know was possible. Carol glanced down and saw a strange bulge. “Uh-huh. What’s in your pocket?”

“I’m not stealing drugs if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Good.”

She folded her arms and leaned against the doorway. “I am _now_.”

“Well, I’m not. You’ll just have to take my word on that. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” John put the pills back, then squeezed past her. “My shift is over.”

Carol turned and watched him walk away, silent for all but a millisecond. “Carter.”

He stopped, never turning around to face her.

“You know you can talk to us, right?”

At last, he spun on his heel. “Yeah. I know. Thanks.”

With that, he left her once more. Once he got clear of other’s eyes, John just about ran to the nearest, empty exam room, all the while clutching his cramping stomach. It felt as though something was stuck inside him somewhere. 

After pushing the door open, he slammed it shut and locked it. John ripped open the box and pulled out a few things; an information sheet and a couple of test strips. He laid both on a sterile tray. John went over to a small refrigeration unit, reached deep into a compartment and brought out a plastic cup half full of urine.

While putting his hands up in front of everything, as though it would keep the already stationary items from moving, John mumbled to himself, “Okay…”

* * *

Approaching the admit desk with an introspective look, Carol asked Jerry, Lydia and Luka, collectively, “Have you guys seen Carter lately?”

“A few minutes ago,” Lydia replied. “Why?”

“Did he seem off to you?”

“Maybe a little distracted.”

“A _little_ distracted?” Jerry echoed. “I was watching him read charts earlier and he was so into it, he stopped breathing.”

“Somehow I doubt it was the charts keeping his interest,” Luka bobbed his head in the direction of Carol. “Is there something we should be worried about?”

“I don’t know. He just seems… preoccupied and stressed. He has been all week.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Lydia jerked her thumb behind her. “Yesterday, I found him in the lounge, staring in the fridge.”

“Should we be talking about him like this? I don’t think he would–”

Carol cut Luka off. “The point is, he can’t be this distracted while working on patients.”

“I’m sure it won’t be an issue,” Luka’s eyes locked on to Kerry for a second, and he then walked off to work up a few patients. “Just let him be.”

Meanwhile, in the exam room, an alarm on John’s wristwatch went off. Ten minutes passed. The test was finished.

John stood up and grudgingly leaned in to see what the results were. Tightly, he shut his sights, and chanted, “Don’t be blue.”

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked at the tests strips. Soon after, he covered his mouth and nose, holding in a half-gasp, half-laugh. It wasn’t long before reality had set in, and his enthusiastic expression fell, conveying utter fear.

In a panicked drawl, he moaned, “Ohhhhhhhh, shhh–”

* * *

“Shots?” 

Mark gazed at the patient he was checking over with narrowed eyes. “Pardon?” 

“Am I gonna need shots?” 

“Probably, for tetanus, Mister Williams,” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of John quickly tearing his way through the ER with a panicked demeanour, hurrying past him; this snagged his attention. “Whoa, whoa! Carter? Is everything okay?” 

“Huh?” John stopped long enough to reply. “Y-yeah. I just, uh– Is Benton down here?” 

“Surgery, I think.” 

A long, trembling sigh escaped from his lungs. “Why is he never here when I need him?” John muttered. 

“Maybe I could help?” 

“No!” John snapped. A few seconds later, he calmly reiterated with a shaky voice, “No. Sorry, no. It… should be him. No offence.” 

“None taken. I get it,” Mark waved it off. “but… are you okay?”

“What? What, do I look puffy or something?” he blurted out.

“More like panicked. Plus, aren’t you supposed to be leaving?”

“Yeah. Yeah, in two hours.”

“Alright, go. Go,” After John bolted, Mark went back to what he was doing, only for a moment. “Hey, Carter?”

Gradually, he veered around and stared at Mark with a blank face, staying silent.

“Merry Christmas.”

John half-smiled and joylessly chuckled when he thought about it. It was certainly going to be a weird one. Weirder than usual. “Yeah, you too.”

* * *

John came into the surgical ward in a frenzied panic, screaming, “Doctor Benton!”

“Doctor Carter,” Shirley rounded the corner of the desk and approached him. “Settle down. What’s going on?”

“I need Doctor Benton,” he replied, nearly weeping.

“I gathered that, but–”

“Well, where is he?” John lost every bit of his mind in that instant.

“Carter, settle down,” she said in a calming mantra. “Settle down.”

But he was too far gone to relax now. John’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he paced back and forth from the desk to the seats across the way, moaning anxiously.

At that moment, Peter stepped through the swinging doors, and after a double-take, he saw John shaking and tearing up. “Carter?”

A harsh exhale came bursting out of John, forced and trembling.

“What’s the matter?” The closer Peter got to him, the more he could just how worked up John was. He did his best to get him to relax, even though it wasn’t his strong suit. “Hey, hey, hey. Carter, talk to me. What is it?”

He tried to reply but his words came out clipped and in a rush. “I-I don’t– I’m– There’s–”

“Carter?”

Another explosion of air left him, and before long, John started hyperventilating. A panic attack hit him in the gut, head and chest, leaving him with a headache, chest pain and a queasy feeling.

“Alright, why don’t you sit down?” Peter helped him down into a seat, and he sat beside him. He looked at Shirley and asked, “Can you get him some water?”

John tried to tell them there was no way he could keep anything down right now, but all that shook out was an anguished moan.

“Just breathe, man. Just breathe. I’ve got you. It’ll be okay,” Repeatedly, Peter rubbed the upper portion of John’s back. He reiterated once more, “I’ve got you.”

Almost instantly, John started to feel a little calmer. He rested his head on Peter’s bicep, eyelids becoming increasingly difficult to keep open. 

Shirley came back with a small paper cup of water and gave it to Peter. “Here you go. Anything else?”

“Thanks. I think we’re good,” A sudden flash of heat swept through John and crossed Peter. Soon after, he started to hyperventilate again, and Peter found himself murmuring, “Maybe not.”

It was getting harder for John to swallow. Every time he tried, he gagged. He throat felt two times smaller and tighter than usual, which didn’t help his anxiety.

“You alright?” Taking in the dirty look Peter received, he quickly got his answer. “Right, right. Sorry. Can you move?”

The only response he gave was a whimper and a nearly imperceptible shake of the head.

“Okay, I’ll help you,” Peter rose to his feet and held out both hands. “Here. Give me your hands.”

For a long time, John just stared vacantly at them, at Peter, then back to his hands.

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

Shakily, John clasped on and tried and failed to stand almost instantly. 

Going on instinct, Peter caught him before he could fall, wrapping both arms around his stomach and holding him backwards. “I’ve got you, Carter. I’ve got you.”

John put his hand over Peter’s forearm, lightly tapping and urging through laboured breathing, “Careful.”

“Sorry. You’ve probably gotta throw up, right?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

As he straightened himself up with a grunt, he replied, “Not here.”

Now Peter was really getting concerned. He’d seen John worked up before, but this was new to him, being asked to have a private chat with him. Peter surmised it must have been serious, and told him, “We can go to the locker room.”

Peter peered into the dark, almost eerie room, making sure it was empty. The minute he believed it was, he helped John inside with him, who was practically fused to him by this point.

It took but a short time for John to let go, stumble in and latch himself to the nearest sink he could find in the dark. He started to breathe heavily again, his upper body lurching with each inhale and exhale.

“Alright, alright. Easy, man,” Peter said in a soothing tone. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing!” he flung at him, his voice somewhat echoing inside the sink and cracking under the weight of his anxiety.

“Slowly.”

Over and over, John murmured, “Oh, God.”

Peter’s hand hovered over the back of John’s neck, nervous to touch him. It was clear something had him hysterics, and the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse. In time, however, Peter thought he might want some form of human contact. He couldn’t just stand there and do nothing while he became more and more panic-stricken. Finally, he put his hands on him, prompting a sharp inhalation and a small flinch. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Stroking him, Peter could feel John’s tense, almost rigid muscles beneath his fingers. “Try to relax. Just keep breathing, alright? Nice and slow.”

A breath as shaky as his limbs escaped his lips. Little by little, it slowed and became less unsteady.

“There you go. That’s it. Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, relax…”

John relaxed so much that his knees buckled underneath him. He found himself crumbling but was caught by Peter, bringing him down with him, knocking the wind from both of their lungs. He was now on Peter’s lap. He didn’t hear him complain. Even if he had, John was too out of it to notice, staring off into the distance, disassociating, leaving all reality.

“Carter, what’s wrong?”

The sound of his voice brought John back, only just. “I’m screwed,” he replied, slurring slightly. “I’m so, _so, so_ –”

“Hey. Carter, I’m here, man. Talk to me. What is it?”

He stayed silent, waiting for the right words to come to him. A straight answer would be sufficient, but then he’d have to explain _how_ it happened. He’d have to, anyway; there was no avoiding it. His breathing hitched once and then sputtered out in a rush. It was time to rip off the bandage.

John crawled off his lap, grabbed on to a bench and pulled himself up. He flopped down on it, frowned thoughtfully and asked, “Have you heard of the term ‘intersex?’”

An undecipherable expression stuck on his face for a long time. Where is he going with this? he wondered. Going along with it, he answered at last, “I have. I’ve never met or operated on anyone like that before.”

John raised his hand and waved. “John Carter, nice to meet you.”

At first, his words didn’t register with Peter. He was too busy getting up from the floor and dusting himself off to even notice his gesture. Eventually, it hit him. “Wait, you’re–?”

“Ovotestis, with vaginal opening and canal, cervix… uterus,” Clocking Peter’s gawk of unmitigated bewilderment, John smiled softly and knowingly nodded. “I figured I would get that reaction. Still, better than how I pictured it.”

“But you look–”

“I know. I look and _sound_ masculine — even have a penis, which is next to useless — but I’m technically not,” John stared at Peter, taking in the subtle shock in his expression. “You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m a freak of nature. I mean, my parents think I am. I think that’s why I was thrown by that one patient. I’m conditioned to think this is wrong, but they didn’t let that stop them. Not until I–” John paused to gulp down his emotions over the loss of his patient from five years ago. With a clear of his throat, he continued, “I wasn’t disgusted, just… didn’t know there were others like me out there. It wasn’t the same, I know, but similar. And I didn’t want to say the wrong thing– Anyway, my folks kept wanting to ‘ _fix me_.’ I kept saying no. At eighteen, I finally got the legal rights to refuse. Still, I can’t help but wonder if they were right.”

“I don’t think they were,” Going on the dubious gaze Peter was given, he reassured him, “I don’t. It’s your body, you should be proud of it.”

His body slowly twitched from a stifled, mirthless chuckle. “I’ll get there.”

“Carter, don’t get me wrong, I’m honoured that you’d trust me enough to tell me, but… _why_ are you telling me?”

“Because in a few months, I’ll look a bit puffy, for lack of a better term, and I thought you should know why.”

“What are you trying to say to me?”

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

Peter was about to say yes when it became clear. His hardened features seemed to fade, turning into a shocked expression once again. “Ohhh, shit. You’re– That can happen?”

“Evidently.”

“And you’re sure?”

John nodded. “Two positive test strips sure.”

“Oh, God,” Peter murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand came down to his hip with a slap. “When did it happen?”

“Six days ago.”

There must have been something plugging up his ears, making him misunderstand, because he swore he could have heard him say six days. “What?”

“I said six days ago. Six days and seven hours.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” he mumbled. “Carter, look, six days is too early to determine whether or not you’re… you know.”

“Knocked up?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered. “At this point, you’re probably going through the implantation stage, you’re not technically pregnant yet.”

Hearing this, a part of him came to be disheartened. He was so certain, so secure in the notion that he was expecting. Scared, but excited at the same time. “Oh,” John hung his head down, slumped his shoulders and looked straight at the floor. “Yeah, right. You’re probably right.”

“Carter, I’m just saying it’s too soon to tell. Give it a few more weeks.”

He looked at Peter with tears forming in his eyes once more. “What if I am? I mean, I’ve been on testosterone, I haven’t menstruated in years, so it’s unlikely, but… _what_ _if_?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, alright?”

John’s chin vibrated while he stared into the sink. “I’m going to be doing this alone, aren’t I?” he asked in a soft moan.

“No, you’re not,” Peter said, which seemed to bring him to tears. He brushed back a rogue lock of John’s dark brown hair. “You’re not.”

Though he gave his silent assent, his focus remaining ahead, John had a hard time believing in his words. Something would happen along the way would leave him on his own, trying to swim to the surface of the choppy waters of parenthood with a lead weight tied to his ankle.

He finally turned his attention to Peter, his eyes still wet with tears and the side of his hand covering his mouth. John then removed it and ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall to his side. “There is one thing you can do to help.”

“Which is?” 

John drew in a huge, deep breath before answering with a question. “Can you draw some blood?” 

Peter stepped back a bit. A knowing look came over his face, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Yeah. Think I can manage that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I went there. No, I don’t regret it. X-P Before anyone says this wouldn’t happen, it is plausible. _Rare_ , but plausible. Plus, ever since _‘Whose Appy Now?’_ (You may know the moment.) I’ve been wanting to “see” this happen. I also know that Kovac isn't in season five, but… he is now.


	9. Is There Still Life At All?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis Gant tags along with John for the Carter family Christmas Eve gathering, like he was going to two years ago. It’s more than a little stressful and awkward.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go see a movie or something?” Dennis offered, jamming his hands into his pockets, nervously rocking on his feet.

As John rang the doorbell, he asked, “What would we see? _Jack Frost_?”

“I was thinking _Star Trek: Insurrection_.”

A chuckle slipped out of John’s mouth. “Nerd.”

“I’m _your_ nerd.”

Hearing that made him grin, but at the same time, he wondered if it was right. He was so excited about the whole idea of being with him that the prospect of it actually becoming a full-blown relationship never occurred to him. Add to that the possibility of a child, and then he suddenly had a family at the age of twenty-eight. In an instant, every past relationship he ever had flashed before him. All those failed attempts at dating made him just that: a failure. What if this was no different? What if he screwed up whatever friendship they had?

“Look, about that–” John began, then was cut short.

“We don’t have to come clean with your family yet, do we?” Dennis asked. “I mean, technically, you and I aren’t really a couple yet, so why bother?”

That caught him off guard. His eyes were fixed on the door, giving it a hundred-yard stare, knowing how he would likely have a breakdown if he were to look at Dennis. Uncertainty was no longer an issue. Now he knew. Now he felt disappointed and sick to his stomach from the very evident embarrassment Dennis had just from standing next to him.

Next, he brought forth a question that would most likely be a fatal mistake: “Are you ashamed of us?”

“What? How could you–? No, of course not. I just thought–”

John barked furiously, “Well, maybe don’t think.”

The door opened. Greeting them was a slightly older woman, not related to John, but someone he saw often. She let them inside and took their coats.

Dennis knew his family was loaded, but he didn’t expect a mansion with round-the-clock servants and maids. It made the whole situation even more daunting. He kept his composure, for the sake of his friend. The last thing he needed was to stress out or humiliate John.

Amidst all the other people talking and laughing and the music, Dennis spoke up above it all, so John could hear him. “This is a bit much.”

“You were expecting something a little less pretentious and snobbish?”

“Kinda.”

A chuckle issued from John. “Just you wait. I’m sure my mother is around here somewhere.”

“Actually, she’s skipping this one,” a voice came from behind them.

John whirled around and saw his father standing right there. His smile vanished instantly. “Dad. What do you mean?”

“Some conference in New York or… something,” Jack looked over John’s friend, almost judging the man with his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d bring anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. Dennis, this is my father, John Carter Jr.”

“Jack,” he said with a grin and stuck out his hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you, Dennis.”

“Yeah, you too,” Dennis glanced around the room, restless and fidgety for some strange reason. Too many people, perhaps. “Are these gatherings always like this?”

“You should see the company picnic,” he jested, then turned to John. “Have you seen your grandmother yet?”

John shook his head. “We actually just got here.”

“Well, if you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

With a nod, his mouth worked soundlessly, and a small, half-smile played about his lips and disappeared as soon as his father did. After puffing out his cheeks, slowly letting the air out through a bray, he asked Dennis, “Should we go upstairs?”

“What for?”

“Your gift?” John replied in a drawl, a glimmer of a suggestive charm in his eyes.

“It’s Christmas Eve, man.”

“So? Somewhere in the world, it’s Christmas Day. Plus, I still have to open yours.”

Dennis stared at John’s ready and waiting hand, nervous to take it. Suddenly, he was immensely aware that he was not alone. He felt eyes on him, even though it couldn’t be further from the case. Hesitating, he eventually took his hand, positioning it in such a way that made it impossible for others to see.

John’s eyes narrowed, expression going serious. He didn’t dare make it a big deal, fearing it would alter their relationship, whatever it was. A large part of him hoped they could talk rationally about it while they were in his room, alone, before the worst could happen.

* * *

Once there, John shut and locked the door behind him. Finally, it was just them. It felt like forever since they were, but the truth was that it was only a few minutes.

Dennis collapsed onto John’s huge bed, wiped from going up so many stairs. Not as worn out as John, however. Knowing this, he had to ask, “Are you okay?”

Was he okay? Not in the least. The effects of his weak heart began to kick in. Still, he could function and comprehend what went on around him. All while searching through his drawers, John nodded and lied, “Yeah, I’m good. Just… looking for– Ah!” He pulled out the brown paper bag he was given days ago. “Here it is.”

A look of surprise crossed Dennis’ face. “You kept it?”

“Yeah. Why not?“ John shoved his hand inside and took out a blue cassette tape, ‘Mix Three,’ written on the front. It brought up a slow forming smile; one that dimpled his cheeks and crinkled his nose. “Can’t believe you did this.”

“I wanted to. None of these are hits any more, but–”

“That’s okay.”

“Also, what the hell is that?” Dennis pointed at a small jar on the mantle.

“ _That_ is Benton’s appendix,” Without another word, not noticing the disgusted look on Dennis’ face, John stuck the two-year-old tape into his stereo. After pressing play, music played, an easy, relaxed beat akin to something you’d slow-dance to. “En Vogue, huh?”

“Yeah,” What he said next came grudgingly as he rubbed his hands against his thighs. “The whole thing… pretty much sums up my feelings for… you.”

Hearing this made him feel warm and fuzzy. Breathless, heart-pounding; he honestly couldn’t tell if it was his hopes buoying up or if it was something else. It could very well be something else. Despite the gradual loss of brain cells, John meandered to him and flopped down beside him.

John locked sights with him for a moment, then diverted to his feet. “Dennis, I–”

Out of nowhere, Dennis put his hands on John’s cheeks, turning his head to tenderly kiss him.

John couldn’t tell if it was the kiss or the lack of blood in his brain, but everything seemed to grow painfully foggy.

Dennis pulled away long enough to say, “I feel like I’m back in high-school, sneaking into the bedroom to make out.”

“Ohhh,” he breathed, craving more. “Just shut up.”

Passionately, their lips meshed and their tongues entwined, as a surge of adrenaline and sexual excitement pulsed through them. Neither cared it was an inopportune moment. Neither cared that both of them sounded like two people loudly enjoying the same piece of decadent piece of cake. 

Unfortunately, this sensational kiss was brought to an end by the sound of the door knob twisting and a knock. 

A woman’s voice called from the other side. “John, are you in there?”

They scrambled briskly up to their feet, caught their breath and looked to one another. Neither were sure if they should answer.

John took a deep breath. “Now _I’m_ back in high-school, being interrupted,” he muttered. “Hang on, hang on.”

“What if she barges in?” Dennis spoke in a hushed tone.

“She’s not going to barge in,” John insisted gently. He hobbled along to the door and opened it. “Gamma,” he flatly greeted, head peeking around the door. “Dad was looking for you.”

“Yes, well, I’m looking for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Realising that she wasn’t going to walk away without him, a roll of John’s eyes accompanied a groan. “Give me a minute,” Soon after shutting the door, John took a brief moment to collect himself. Following a deep breath and setting a hand on the doorknob, he waved Dennis over to be by his side. “Okay, let’s go.”

“You know, maybe we shouldn’t go at the same time.”

In an instant, his hand dropped to his side. His expression hardened to the point of being unreadable. “What?”

Inwardly, Dennis fidgeted and hesitated to explain. “I just thought if we both left they might… get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, right. Because you and I both leaving a room automatically means we’re fucking,” he caustically retorted. “If that’s what you want, fine. I’ll save you some embarrassment.”

The door opened and slammed behind John, bringing out a flinch and recoil from Dennis. Moments later, he exited. He looked around for John, eventually spotting him halfway down the hall. Dennis jogged somewhat to catch up with him.

Glancing over his shoulder, John caught sight of him. For a second time that evening, he rolled his eyes. “Careful not to get too close. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?” John demanded. “Open?”

“I just–” Someone walking past them cut Dennis off. He gave them a quick smile, trying to act casual. This only upset John even more, and he knew it. He could feel the tension emanating from his body, giving off heat. Before he knew it, he was running after him again. “John, wait.”

“Nope.”

“Listen, this isn’t about me feeling ashamed or… whatever. I didn’t want anyone to know we were together before _we_ even know what we are.”

He made a full stop. turned on his heel and stared dead in the man’s eyes. “You know, that’s just it. We’ll never know what you and I are because you’re too scared to face up to it!”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re really going to stand there and tell me you’re worried about what everyone else thinks but not about why you’re stalling?”

Dennis leaned close to him, and in a low voice, said, “We’ve talked about this.”

“No, _I’ve_ talked about this, and I’m getting tired of talking about it until I’m blue in the face, only for you say or do something to shut me up, just so I forget about it until the next day!”

“So stop talking about it.”

“We have to at some point. Sooner than I th–”

“John,” he interrupted. “It’s Christmas Eve. Do we have to do this?”

His only response was an extensive shrug, as if to say, “If not now, when?”

“What do you want me to say? What would it take to convince you?”

John glanced down the stairs with laden eyes, gazing at everyone below in the foyer. There had to be ten down there, including his father and grandmother. They were all a few feet away, so anything said or done would be noticeable now. He turned his attention back to Dennis and said, “Kiss me.”

Anxiety transformed his face, barely noticeable. “Here?”

No response from John, other than an expectant look.

The silence gave Dennis a slight shake, the feeling of panic rising in his chest. Why he was so scared or concerned about what others thought, he’d never know. He wanted to be with him, but he hadn't had the energy, nor the confidence to go for it. It made him nervous, and, at first, it was too much. It still was, to an extent.

John shook his head, his expression that of a disappointed, frustrated man who could not be bothered with this any longer. He felt like he had done everything he could to avoid losing his mind and feeling like it was a waste of time, but, by this point, it was just too late to get there.

For the third time that evening, John walked away, humiliated and ashamed of himself for letting this happen. He was going to spend all his life looking for someone to come along and spend the rest of their lives with him, he knew it. He thought he had it right this time; he was wrong.

“John, wait!” Dennis called out.

He didn’t and instead breezed past his family and their snobbish friends, bringing forth concerned and puzzled looks. His grandmother, however, was the only one who went after him. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to get hurt again.

She followed him outside and all the way to his car. “John, stop,” she urged.

He stood, motionless, never turning around, and with a voice that sounded like he was about to breakdown right there, he whimpered, “I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. It’s not like I thought it would happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s wrong. It’s always wrong. And it’s my fault. I wanted this so badly, I wanted him back and now… it’s wrong.”

Cautiously, she got closer and reached out to him. “You’re not making any sense, John. Why don’t you and I go back inside? It’s cold out here.”

He eyed the house with downcast gaze and sighed. He didn’t want to see anyone else right now. He just wanted to run and leave behind this horrible situation. It was just one of several things he wanted to run from; the possibility of being a parent was the biggest thing, and the thought of doing it alone didn’t help. In the end, he chose to stay.

The two ambled towards the house, arms over one another’s shoulders in an attempt to stay warm until they got inside. Once they did, John’s father, Jack, stood by the front door, eagerly waiting for them.

“Is he alright?” he asked.

“He’s fine, Jack,” Millicent answered in a tone as terse as ever. “but I am taking him upstairs to his bedroom to calm down.”

“Okay,” He nodded his acceptance, uncertain as it was, and gently patted John on the back. “I think dinner will be ready soon, but you take as much time as you need.”

As they made their way up the stairs, neither of them said anything, until John piped up when they reached the top.

“That… is the most worried I’ve ever seen him,” John confessed, then sloughed it off. 

“We’re all worried about you, dear. Especially these days.”

“Why?” John had his hand on the door to his room, ready to push it open when the answer struck him, stalling his movements for a moment. “Ah. Right. My heart.”

“Not just that,” she explained. “You’ve been lashing out, distracted and, frankly, a bit of a brat.”

An expression of pure resentment washed over like angry waves crashing on to the shore. Without a word, he strode into his room.

And without another thought, she went after him. “You’re doing it again.”

“I didn’t say anything, Gamma.”

“You have that glint in your eye. Talk to me, John. And I don’t mean that thing you do lately, where you start to, then stop and storm off. _Talk to me_.”

He wasn’t sure where to start; his affair with another man, which potentially brought a new life into the world, probably wouldn’t go over well with her, let alone anyone else in his family. Dysphoria didn’t make it easy for him to accept it either. He wanted a child, just not this soon or in this way. This, he figured, could be omitted, until he decided if he wanted to keep it or if it even took, assuming he was expecting at all.

Figuring he’d rather not get into it, she told him, “Alright. We can discuss it later.”

“No, I–” Anxiety gripped at his chest, seizing his breath for a short time. He unhitched it in a shudder, wringing his hands in front of him. “Um… there is something going on, and it’s complicated.”

“It’s about that man you brought tonight, isn’t it?”

His eyes grew wise and he arched an eyebrow ever so slightly. “How did you–?”

“Grandmother’s intuition,” she replied with a smile that belied her words only for a second before admitting, “And I may have overheard you two earlier,” Millicent ignored the wary stare he gave her, poised herself on the edge of his bed and asked, “Is it serious? Have you two been… intimate?”

“Yes, we have. Used protection,” _Not that it mattered_ , he thought. It wasn’t long before he joined her, dropping down beside her. “I don’t know what it is. One minute I want to throttle him, the next I just want to f–” He paused to choose his next few words carefully. “Love him,” he said at last. “Maybe I’m scared. Or maybe I have Borderline Personality Disorder, and I assume that the worst will eventually happen, so I make it happen sooner just to get it over with and wind up blaming him for it,” Once he stopped his psychiatric rant he caught sight of her soft, knowing smile. “What?”

“I’d say that ambivalence toward one another is how most relationships go. It was the same with your grandfather and I. He used to drive me crazy. He still does. Back then, he did some awful things, things I never thought I would forgive him for, but I did, in time.”

He choked up, rendering his response to a whisper. “I don’t think I can forgive him for this.”

“You’ll be surprised at what love can evoke in someone,” She rested her hand on John’s shoulder and kneaded it. “Right now, you’re both going through something new and frowned upon by many, and he is just as scared as you, if not more.”

As John chewed on his lower lip and nodded along, all he could think about was getting back into his bed and sleeping it off. He didn’t have the energy nor the emotional or mental strength to deal with any of this nonsense. He wiped his eyes and gave her a quick smile, one that became a sorrowful frown just as suddenly. Right then, he wept and covered his face so she wouldn’t see just how ugly he was in that moment.

Seconds passed. It was tough to just sit there and watch him bawl his eyes out. She had to do something to help him. So, she gingerly wrapped her arm around him and held him close, squeezed hard, then kissed the top of his head. A rare gesture. Normally, she kept her distance and refrained from showing her softer side, though not as much as John’s mother, but in any case, she felt the moment called for it. She was right. In time, he came to a gradual stop.

From over her shoulder, through blurred vision, John gave his bed a longing glance, eyes red and puffy. In a weary, cracking voice he said, “I think I need to lie down.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Millicent rose to her feet, and, keeping her composure while the feeling of apprehension bubbled up inside, she asked, “Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”

“No, I think I’m okay,” John slipped out of his blazer, letting it fall to the floor, and undid his buttons and tie. “Thank you, though.”

“Some music? I know you have a hard time falling asleep when it’s too quiet.”

“Yeah, just the,” He gestured inattentively toward the stereo. “radio’s fine.”

It was just his luck the song playing was one that reminded him heavily of Dennis. John would have said something to her about wanting a change the station, but she’d already gone. It was too late anyway. The song made him realise that maybe he was too demanding, pushing his wants on him. Only one thing could fix this: a good, long talk alone.

* * *

For the longest time, neither of them said a word. Just sat in John’s rented Jeep, staring out ahead and freezing their asses off.

John didn’t know if he should be honest or not. He wasn’t sure if there was anything to tell him yet. What he did know was that if he did, it would probably make Dennis run again. It was a bad decision, for many reasons. If he had waited, like Dennis said to, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Then again, it was a predicament he kind of liked being in. He smiled, and looked at Dennis’ face.

Dennis stared back, inwardly wondering what he was so happy about. He would’ve asked, but he figured John would say something about it.

Eventually, he did. “Do you remember when we first met?”

July fourth.That was the day that Dennis just started working at _County General_ , which was also the day he learned the devil incarnate was going to be his resident. The only thing that made his day better was the tall, adorable guy in blue scrubs. Even then, he felt something for John. He just didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Yeah,” Dennis replied, laughing. “I sat next to you during breakfast.”

“Then the next day…” He chuckled reminiscently. “After some guy, drunk out of his mind, ran into a window, and you helped me patch him up, and we went for our early morning humiliation, you and I passed out in exam three.”

“Yeah. Benton wasn’t happy about that.”

As his smile faded, John leaned towards him sideways and rested his head on Dennis’ shoulder. The scent of his musky cologne still lingered. It was oddly calming for him; almost sleep inducing. “You remember when I moved in?” he asked, struggling to stay awake. “I couldn’t sleep, so we stayed up talking.”

A nice shade of scarlet appeared on Dennis’ cheeks. “And wound up talking about what procedures we did first in med-school.”

“Mine was an IV, yours was a C-secton.”

“Still jealous?”

John snorted in feigned disinterest. “No.”

Dennis raised his eyebrow and donned a deadpan expression as he uttered, “Uh-huh. Well, it was only an assist.”

“Still,” He lifted his head and returned a genuine grin. “If I ever need to have one, I know where to go.”

Frustrated, air hissed out of his clenched teeth. “If I can even practice medicine.”

More than a little thrown by the fact that his hint went unnoticed, his face went blank once more. Of course it did. It wasn’t exactly unsubtle. John let it go and, with his interest piqued, he turned to give Dennis his full attention. “You still want to?”

“Well, yeah. I never wanted to quit. I worked in Atlanta under a different name, but… much as I hated Benton, I liked it here.”

“Maybe we could work something out.”

“I doubt it. Nobody even knows I’m here, except for you,” Dennis stared down at John’s hand, then held it without hesitation. “Speaking of you: why did you bring me out here?”

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. I can wait.”

“That’s what you said before.”

There was no denying that; and he was the one who instigated it. He was always one to be restless, though. Couldn’t wait for anything for more than a few hours. Perhaps it was attention deficit disorder, or perhaps he was just eager. Too eager. Too devoted. Too stupid to take a second to realise Dennis was right. Too blind to see how much he was hurting.

The dam of sorrow suddenly burst, releasing a flood of tears from John’s eyes. Over and over again, he wept, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did,” he said. “I wasn’t there, I didn’t listen. I should have–”

“John,” Every word that came next was enunciated, trying to get him to hear it. “I’m telling you, it’s not your fault. Nothing happened.”

“You were still struggling.”

“Yeah. And I did consider it,” Clocking the fact that he seemed to bring out more sobs, Dennis reached out and rubbed John’s arm. “Oh, hey. Come on, you know I hate it when you cry.”

“Sorry,” John wiped his eyes for the umpteenth time that evening. “I don’t know why I’m–” That was all he could get out before he began to lose it again.

Wasting no time, Dennis brought him in for a warm hug and, softly, he shushed him. “It’s okay, hon.”

It took all but two seconds for what he said to register in John’s mind. The moment it did, he stopped crying. “Did you just call me ‘hon?’”

A light chuckle came out from Dennis’ mouth. He didn’t think about, it just came out. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So, you _do_ love me?”

At first, Dennis hesitated, not out of fear or uncertainty, but out of surprise. He did love him. Sure, they hadn’t been together for long, but somehow it felt like years. Somehow, in a strange way, the relationship between them became the most important thing, with both of them being as inseparable as ever. He loved him. He loved spending every minute with him. He couldn’t see himself without him now, and if he didn’t say something soon, he’d soon know what it would be like for a second time.

Dennis broke away from their embrace and stared him in the eyes with intent. “Of course I love you,” he told him at last. “What makes you think I don’t?”

John shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t show it around anyone else?”

With a thin-lipped half-smile, Dennis looked down at his feet, then at the reflection of the insanely, overcompensatingly huge house through the car windows, and eventually back to John. His eyes stayed on him for a while as he thought. Not a word was spoken once more, not even one explaining why he turned and got out of the car.

He didn’t know what else he expected. John hung his head, fed up with everything. If he weren’t so tired or if it weren’t so unfair to leave Dennis here with his family, he would drive off right now. What he didn’t expect was Dennis opening the driver’s side door. It made him jump slightly, and his eyes locked on to his hand for a moment, still holding the handle. “What are you doing?”

Dennis offered to take John’s hand in his. “Come on. I know what would make this more fun.”

“Frozen pizza at your place?”

“Maybe after.”

John couldn’t help but notice their fingers were still intertwined and that they were getting closer to the house. “You’re holding my hand.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And we’re going back inside.”

“Yes, we are.”

“You’re holding my hand and we’re going back inside.”

“Do you always state the obvious?”

“Only when I don’t know what’s going on,” John stopped dead, forcing Dennis to come to a halt as well. “Dennis, what _is_ going on?”

“You want us to be openly bi?” He started walking again, hand still clasped to John’s. “Let’s be openly bi.”

Once again, he stopped him, on purpose this time. “Yeah, I _do_ want that, but… are you serious?”

Dennis assented. “As an MI.”

“You know what this’ll will do to them.”

“Yeah,” he chortled out. “Can’t wait to see the look on your pops’ face.”

“What happened to figuring out what we are first?”

“I know what we are,” he admitted with conviction. “We’re in love. Right? We’re in love, we’re happy, more or less. I mean, I know things are messy at the moment, but we can get past it. I know we can. We just need to stop being so stupid.”

It wasn’t long before John’s eyes welled up one more time. “Dennis…” His voice came as a mere whisper. Uttering anything louder would have been a blubber more than anything else.

“I am crazy about you. I think that’s one of the many things I love about you. Being crazy about you. And the way you care, the way you feel so much.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again.”

“My point exactly.”

The two shared a snicker, each with their minds full of hope. It was the perfect moment for them to finally get back into the relationship, made only more perfect by the slow start to a snowfall.

“And if anyone should be apologising, it’s me,” Dennis pointed to himself. “I know no amount of apologising will make a difference, but I wanna make it up to. I will, if you’ll let me.”

John’s now beaming grin became a constant and unbreakable thing. He felt like a lovesick teenager, and he suspected Dennis felt the same way, or he wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep him here. “I love you, too.”

“Is that a yes?”

His rejoinder was a tender, feathery kiss on Dennis’ neck, moving up to his lips, then, smiling lightly, he stepped back.

For a moment, his breath was taken away. Through his open mouth, the air finally let loose, cheeks puffing out. “Okay then.”

Something in the corner of their eyes snagged their attention. Both of them looked at that something in unison. It was John’s father, who was gawking out the window and none too enthusiastic.

Only one word came to Dennis’ mind. “Oops.”

“Yeah, oops,” John retorted caustically, giggles tucked into the nooks and crannies of his response. As the snow steadily increased, feeling the temperature drop even further, and after seeing the horrified expression on his father’s face, John said, “Maybe we should go in.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

They made their way back, hand in hand, grinning like idiots without a care in the world.

“So, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?” John asked.

“Guess so,” Dennis tutted out of chagrin. “I was looking forward to springing it on them, too.”

“Oh, you and I achieved that, no question.”

Before they even made it inside, the door swung open and there stood John’s father with arms folded and a glare in his eyes. “Your room, both of you, now,” he commanded.

After he walked on ahead, the two looked at one another, inwardly asking if he was seriously going to lecture them like a couple of kids. Humouring him, they obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one this time, lads and lasses. Originally, this was gonna have Lucy coming along with them, but the third wheel trope didn’t seem fitting for this. So, every interaction that was going to be with Carter and Lucy are now with his ‘Gamma.’


	10. It’s a Wonderful Strife

Jack, John’s father, paced in a straight line in front of him and Dennis, while the two were perched beside each other on the edge of his bed. John was starting to get dizzy just watching him move back and forth. Or maybe it was something else entirely, making him light-headed and queasy. Either way, it might have been better if he kept the fact that they had sex out of the discussion.

John asked, “Are you going to say anything, or…?”

“I’m thinking,” Jack tersely responded. It proved to be an arduous task, finding the right words. In the end, the only thing he could think of was, “What were you _thinking_? You’re a doctor! I don’t need to tell you that AIDS is still a very real and ever-present threat.”

“No, you don’t, but we used precautions. Besides, he’s clean,” A second passed before John turned to Dennis and confirmed, “You are, right?”

“Uh… I guess?” Dennis shrugged. “I’ve never been tested.”

Jack threw up his hands in frustration. “Oh, great.”

“Apart from a few flings in high-school, I’ve only ever been with Monique,” Noting the confused expression on Jack’s face, Dennis explained, “My ex.”

Luckily, the thought occurred to him he might need an HIV test, so he had Peter send his blood up for it and a pregnancy test. Dennis, however? He’d have to get his done either elsewhere or in private. No way was John going to screw him over by having someone at _County_ do it. Dennis drove him crazy, but not _that_ much that he would do something vindictive.

John grabbed hold of Dennis’ hand. “Dad, if you have a problem with us–”

“I don’t,” he quickly interjected. Second thoughts then prodded at him like an annoying little brother, and he stopped pacing entirely. “Maybe? I don’t know. I– When did this happen?”

“I told you, almost a week ago.”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, shuffling toward the window. Jack stared out at it, wondering what to do with this information. What could anyone do, except be supportive? He wanted to be, and he would be eventually, he believed, but right now, this was a lot to take in. He had so many questions, he didn’t know where to start. So, instead, he took a moment to think.

Dennis finally spoke up for his own and John’s sake. “If it helps, we’re not just screwing around,” He gazed over at John as though asking if he should continue. A half-smile from him was enough of an answer. “We want to be together, just… have some things to work out.”

That grabbed Jack’s attention. He wheeled around, staring at John, who seemed to be getting sleepy, then at Dennis, who had started worrying, fidgeting noticeably. “You guys are serious then?”

In unison, they nodded, turning to each other and smiling. It was the first time either of really had a thought about their relationship. A few minutes here and there, but nothing more. Funny how it took a crazy Christmas Eve with John’s uptight, protestant family for them to be so relaxed, so confident to be able to admit it and be themselves, fully and openly.

Then it went quiet again, only the muffled sounds of the party downstairs made it through, until the _beep, beep, beep_ of John’s pager cut in. It startled each of them, but John more so than the others, being as half-asleep as he was.

John scrambled to get the small electronic device out so he could see it. Once he accomplished that, he scrutinised the number on the screen with narrowed eyes. It wasn’t a number he recognised.

“What is it, an emergency?” Dennis leaned over to get a view.

“No, it’s–” _Benton_ , he finished in his head. _It’s gotta be._ Ever so slightly, his eyes widened, nerves getting stronger. A quick glance led to his father, who didn’t seem to notice how anxious he was. Stammering every other word, he said, “I, uh– I-I-I gotta take this.”

“Go ahead,” Jack jerked his head in the landline’s direction by the bed.

“In private.”

Both of them eyed him as though they thought he was looking for an excuse to bolt. Dennis had a strong feeling that he would.

“I can go with you,” Dennis offered.

“No, no, I’m good,” he insisted, setting a hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that, he left them to their own devices.

* * *

On the way out, John sidestepped past people and made a beeline for the front door. Before he stepped through, he plucked up a cordless phone receiver and dialled the number that was on his pager. It wasn’t long before, too, was pacing, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly until it stuck up. He heard a voice on the other end and froze. It was Peter’s.

“Hello? Carter?” He heard nothing on the other end of the buzzing line. For a moment, he thought John hung up on him. Then hesitant breathing stuttered over the static. “Carter, what’s wrong?”

John tried to speak, but it came out as a bubbling, muted garble. He attempted again. “N– Uh, nothing. Just nervous, I guess. What’s the news?”

“Well, the good news is that you tested negative for HIV.”

A little burst of anxious laughter left him. “Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Still, he was grateful to hear it. “And the bad news?”

“I guess it depends on your perspective.”

In his tone was a hint of indignation mingling with the words, “Doctor Benton.”

“Sorry,” For the first time in a long time, for the first time ever around John, Peter chuckled in genuine amusement. He had to admit, messing with him was kind of funny. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Why? What do you mean by that?”

“Carter, what do you think I mean?”

His smile, faint as it already was, faded, his lips still open. The news sunk in. Once again, he went silent for almost fifteen seconds.

“Carter, you still there?”

He didn’t know what to say. He was having a baby. On some level, he knew, but he never imagined it. Who could? How could it happen? They were careful; he was on testosterone patches. It shouldn’t have happened, yet, somehow, it did.

So much was going on in his head that he couldn’t remember what he was doing. “U-uh… Sorry, what did you say?”

“You’re not pregnant.”

“What?” he echoed, voice cracking as confusion rose within him. “What do you mean? The tests I took–”

“Might have been false positives,” Peter finished. “but like I said, you’re in the implantation stage. After that stage is when hCG is detectable. Another three days, we can test again to be sure. Is there any bleeding or cramping?”

“Cramping, yes, bleeding… I don’t know.”

“Check and get back to me. It should be brown or bright pink.”

“I know.”

“Only a little, too. Not a lot, like you’re menstruating.”

“I know that too. Look, Doctor Benton, it’s been six days. I’m hot, moody, my pecs hurt, I haven’t been sleeping. I’ve gotta be, right?” John moaned, practically in hysterics. Salty tears tunnelled their way to his gaping mouth, which he licked away.

“All symptoms of implantation. You’re just gonna have to be patient.”

Being patient was not something he could do. He wanted to know and he wanted to know now. He was tired of agonising over it.

“I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“So did I, but…” John raked his fingers through his hair once again. “I think I might actually want this baby. Assuming that I am.”

“Really?”

John nodded, even though his gesture wasn’t visible. “Yeah, really.”

“In that case, you need to start thinking about prenatal care,” Peter glanced at his watch. He was late for picking up Reese. “Listen, Carter, I gotta go. Call or page me if something doesn’t feel right.”

“W-wait, wait! What if–?” The sound of a dial tone cut him off. John hung up. He had a good mind to throw the phone into the snow, but he didn’t. “I just need you…”

In all his reflections and hormones running wild, John didn’t even notice it started snowing again. His hot flashes kept him more than toasty. Sweaty, even. It was getting worse. He found it hard to concentrate. John grabbed a handful of snow and stuck it to the back of his neck. Immediately after, he gasped and flinched, but God, did it feel amazing!

Dennis was right there when John opened the door. It startled him. “Jesus! What?” he barked.

“What the hell got into you?” Dennis shot back.

“Sorry, sorry,” He dismissively waved off his outburst. “I’m just tired.”

“No problem. Maybe a nap is in order.”

“No, if I go to sleep now I won’t wake up,” he replied with a near mirthless chortle. “Plus, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” John put his hand on Dennis’ upper back and led him upstairs. “Dad’s not still up there, is he?”

“No, no, he left shortly after you did,” With a half grin, he said, “I think he likes me.”

“Don’t be fooled.”

His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding. “What are you talking about? He seems like a nice guy.”

“My family may come off as kind and nice, but once you’re gone, that all changes. Take it from somebody who has lived with them for longer than I care to admit.”

“You can always move back in with me.”

John faked a smile, almost imperceptibly, but deep down, he still felt uneasy and doubtful. This was, after all, the man who lied to him and others for two years; a man who seemed to believe that John was over it. He said he didn’t care, but he was far from over it.

“Maybe,” John said, voice low, nearly inaudible. John opened the door to his room and motioned Dennis to go in ahead, after which he shuffled in and flopped on to his bed, flat on his stomach. It didn’t occur to him until the last second that he could have very well dislodged the egg attached, or attaching, to his insides. Inwardly, he cursed and let out a weary groan, muffled by the sheets and blankets.

“Tired?” Dennis hazarded an obvious guess.

When he turned his head to look at him, his hair instantly became dishevelled from the pillow. He gave him a weary smile. “I’ll sleep later,” John patted the bed, sending him a message to join him.

A small huff of disbelief shot from his nostrils. “We’re not doing that now.”

“No. I don’t think I have the brainpower,” John responded with a chortle. “I just want to talk.”

Dennis eased himself down on the bed, lying in front of John, face to face. “What do you want to talk about?”

Haze clouded his mind, making it difficult to focus on anything other than how he felt at that moment. Dead tired, hungry, and, most of all, on edge. Being exhausted didn’t help that last part. John couldn’t recall what he wanted to say. Even less so, when he looked Dennis in the eye. Everything he ever needed was right there in front of him. Someone who loved him for everything he was and everything he stood for, flaws and all. Whether it was worthwhile, he hadn’t decided yet. Who could? It was too soon to tell. Still, for the first time in a long time, John felt wanted. For that, he was grateful.

Then he remembered. He was possibly pregnant with Dennis’ baby. The thought both terrified and thrilled him, though the fact remained, he wasn’t sure of what was going on in there. Plus, Dennis would most likely head for the hills if he found out. John kept his mouth shut about it, for no reason other than to keep him around for a bit longer.

At last, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I know those two words have probably lost all meaning by now... You’re trying, and that’s all I can ask of you. But you’re right. We should figure out what you and I are first.”

Dennis’ eyes narrowed as he watched the uncertainty crease John’s face. “I thought we knew.”

“I’m not so sure. We rushed into this, and what for? Because we could?” He took a moment to think over what he wanted to say next, and shaking, he breathed in and out. “I want this — I have for a long time — but not if it’s going to be forced.”

“Who’s forcing anything?”

“No, like we’re obligated. I’m scared that’s all it’ll be. Because we felt something for so long we’re compelled to stay together just to say we did.”

“What are you saying, we should stop?”

John shrugged. The motion was stifled from the pillows under his head. “I don’t know,” he said with a broken heart, hurting to even consider it. “All I can think about is you, running away from those tracks and never looking back. Never calling, never writing…”

“I couldn’t have. You know that, John.”

“Yes, you could,” A hint of contempt mingled with his words. John then shot out of bed and on to his feet, ignoring the head-rush it produced. “With me, you could. _You_ know _that_. I would have been there, I would’ve helped if you had just _told_ me. Instead, I had to go two years thinking you were dead? You know what? I’m tired of going over this.”

Dennis joined him, waltzing up to him. “Then let’s not,” He put his hands on John’s shoulders. “Okay? I did those things, there’s no changing it, but John, I really think you and I can move past this. It’ll take time, yeah, but I think we can do this. We _should_ do this. Or at least try.”

The truth was, he only brought it up again because, deep down, he hoped Dennis would get fed up and leave, saving him from having to share the news at all. It was a stupid, futile attempt to thwart it, John knew this, but he didn’t know what else to do. He certainly didn’t want to argue any more, though; he wanted an escape hatch, so to speak — a way out — and maybe he wouldn’t feel like this if he didn’t keep it from him, but he was conflicted, scared, and clearly trying hard not to think about it more than he had to.

Dennis’ hands slid down the length of John’s arms, stopping at his hands where they stayed, clasped tightly together. He stared intently into John’s syrup-brown eyes. “ _Can we try_? If it doesn’t work out… at least we could say we did that much.”

From that point on, John stayed silent, gazing back at him with a blank expression. He didn’t even consider the past until then. Then he went down the long, winding drive through What-if Road. What if he abandoned him again? What if he did after the baby was born? If it was easy for Dennis to leave before, what stopped him from doing it again? What if he was kidding himself this whole time? What if the idea of a relationship with Dennis was just that? An idea, an image of something that wasn’t meant to be. Fake.

Dennis tilted his head out of curiosity. It was concerning him, how quiet John went. “Did I say something wrong?”

Following another breath, deep and quivering, John told him, “I think you should go.”

A laugh, not out of mirth but out of disbelief, left him. “Wh–? What, _now?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“You drove me. How am I supposed to get home?”

“Figure it out,” he muttered as he mindlessly made his way to the bathroom.

Without a second thought, Dennis trailed after him. “John, please, tell me what you’re think–” The door slamming in his face interrupted him. He put his hand on the door, motionless as a statue, waiting patiently, which wasn’t easy. Hearing John sobbing on the other side didn’t make it easier. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.

Inside, John stared long and hard at a bottle of Ibuprofen. He wondered how many it would take. His quivering hand plucked it off the sink, yet he couldn’t open it. It scared him. That was when he started crying uncontrollably once more, but he kept it quiet. After a while, he set it down on the counter, his stretched out and trembling hand dropping to his side.

When he finally stepped back and glanced around, he couldn’t believe how close he was to ending his life. All for what? Avoiding telling the truth? John saw himself in the mirror and thought of how pathetic he was. There was something wrong in his head. Something more than paranoia and anger, something that just wasn’t working. He couldn’t tell what was wrong or what was right.

John rested his back against the wall, sliding down until he reached the floor. His knees came up to his chin, deep-set eyes steadily fixed on the opposite side of the room. With eyelids as heavy as lead, he had difficulties keeping them open. Before long, he drifted off where he rested.

Dennis remained at the door, unsure of what to do. Accompanying a defeated sigh, he walked out of the room, back down the hallway. Maybe space was all he needed. It didn’t take him long to whirl around and head back in. He marched to the door and spoke, hoping to get through to him. “I don’t get you. You fight me about waiting, and now you think it’s a good idea; you wanted me to be open, I was, but it’s not good enough now. I don’t know what to do any more.”

There was a moment’s silence. It seemed pointless to try to get the message across, but it was worth a shot.

As he began to walk away once again, the door swung open, and John came out of the room, dishevelled and shivering. There were no words, no gestures, nothing. Just the two of them, standing before one another.

It was unbearable, and so intense. The fact was, they had said everything that needed to be, and although neither of them wanted to admit it, they knew it was over. It had to be, for the sake of their sanity and friendship, whatever may have been left of it. If it was even salvageable at this point.

Taking the first step, John stepped out, putting on a brave face. He could feel Dennis following behind him, but not too close. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “I’ll drive you home.”

Dennis, who was willing to keep trying, looked at John, his eyes filling with despair. He nodded, even though he didn’t agree with the idea. It would be foolish to let him slip away again — he said he wouldn’t — so in a last-ditch effort to make him see that he could and would do better, he moved ahead of John and stopped in front of him. He didn’t go through all of that arguing and convincing for nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“No. I’m not letting you go, okay? I need you. So, let’s fix this. I’ll stay up all night long if I have to.”

“That’s not necessary,” John situated the strap of his watch, avoiding eye contact. “I mean all we’re going to do is fight anyway.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. But you’re being stubborn and defensive, and you’re not leaving me much choice.”

At first, John wanted to snap at him, which would only prove Dennis’ point. Instead, he huffed out a breath before quietly responding. “You think I enjoy doing this? Every time we do I feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Dennis reached out to touch him on the shoulder, but never fully committed to it. He then put his hand in his pocket. “I want us to get back to how we were.”

John folded his arms loosely over his stomach, careful to avoid squeezing. He knew it wasn’t anything to worry about right now, but even so, he was cautious. Deeply, he inhaled, and on his exhale he uttered, “I don’t think we can. Nothing is the same now.”

Knowingly, Dennis bobbed his head. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

John coyly diverted his gaze, shuffling his feet. “In a few months, it’ll be even more complicated,” By the time he realised what he’d said, it was too late. When he caught a glimpse of Dennis’ face, he saw the puzzlement in his expression. His guilt was present; there was no hiding or denying it.

“What do you mean complicated?”

He hesitated and squirmed, hemming and having as he answered. “Uhm… You know what? Forget I said anything.” 

In an instant, Dennis felt his stomach tighten. He feared the worst. “John, just tell me,” he begged. “Is something wrong?”

Something was undoubtedly wrong, depending on who you asked. John thought it was a bizarre miracle, but ask his family and they’d probably lose their minds, if not disown him. That was what he figured would happen, at least. They never did respect him, in any way, shape or form. Never respected his body, his career or life choices. All the more reason not to tell them. Telling Dennis wouldn’t be any easier, with the fear of losing him fresh in his mind. He couldn’t lie either.

“I’ll tell you when I find out more,” Noticing the distress in his eyes, John consoled him, reaching out for his hand. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Dennis’ sights locked on to their interweaved fingers, somewhat revelling in John’s surprisingly soft skin. Even so, it wasn’t very comforting. It was hard not to think about the worst-case scenario. In a lament, he let out, “If you say so.”

Playfully, John smacked Dennis in the chest with his other hand. “Come on. I think if leave now, we’ll make the late showing.”

An eyebrow arched, a hint of confusion on Dennis’ face. “Late showing for what?” he asked. His question was greeted by a deadpan gaze. Seconds later, he remembered. “Oh, yeah. I was joking about that.”

“Well, then we’ll rent a movie,” John wrapped his arm around Dennis’ shoulders as they strolled down the corridor. “Although, who are we kidding? We’ll probably sit in the dark, talking and listening to music.”

It wasn’t much of a surprise to him, and, frankly, it was all he wanted to do with the man since he came back. Having a long chat about anything and everything, Jimmy Smith playing in the background, maybe a pizza for dinner; just like old times.

Dennis smiled fondly. “Sounds good to me.”

They walked down the stairs, through the foyer and right out the door without a word to anyone else. Hurrying through the cold and snow, they made it to John’s rental car.

Dennis shivered after he got inside. “What happened to your old car, anyway?”

“Set on fire,” John replied while starting up the vehicle.

A deep sense of unease crept up into his voice. “Okay, what?”

The engine rumbled to life, and John leaned back in the driver’s seat. An introspective frown creased his forehead. “A little girl came in. She needed a blood transfusion, and the only person who matched was her flight risk of a father. My med student and I–”

“Hold up,” Dennis cut in. “ _Med student_?”

A reluctant smile gradually widened, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Part of him still didn’t believe what he was about to say next. “Yeah, I’m an ER-resident now, with my very own student.”

Dennis turned to face him, his interest fully piqued. “What prompted that big of a change?”

“I never really shared the same passion as the rest of the surgeons, and there was no point in staying there after you left, so…” Inwardly, he brushed it off. “Anyway, she, Lucy, and I searched all over for this guy. In the process, my car got torched.”

“Damn,” Bewildered, Dennis puffed out air with a bray. “Did the girl make it?”

“No,” John tersely spoke. “She was on life support for twelve hours when her parents decided to take her off it.”

“Oh, man. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Shall we?”

“Could we just drive around instead? I mean, we don’t have to go back yet, do we?”

John grinned softly at him, a flicker of interest lighting up within him. He didn’t have to be at work tomorrow, so why not? Why not just drive unit they either got lost or nearly ran out of gas? It was stupid at best, and he knew it, but spending some time with him, other than fooling around and quarrelling, seemed like a great idea.

With that, he and Dennis drove off, heading for absolutely nowhere in particular, with not a care in the world. 


	11. Honestly Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long drive, John & Dennis wind up almost two states over. It’s then, during their impromptu road trip, that John decides to tell him about his heart condition.

Four hours came and went. They were still on the road, despite the persistent yawning and restless shifting. In the middle of John’s rant about how Lucy drove him insane, the exhaustion truly hit him.

Wondering why he stopped mid-sentence, Dennis glanced over at him. He saw how glossy his eyes appeared. “Should I take over?” he offered.

“Next rest stop,” he replied. John squinted, searching for a road sign. “Not that I’ve seen one in a while. Where even are we?”

Dennis clocked a large, green freeway exit placard and inwardly groaned. “Uh, going off that sign that says, ‘ _Detroit_ ,’ I’m gonna say we’re not in Chicago.”

“ _What_?” John shrieked.

“We’re in Michigan.”

“Oh, God!” The sound of Dennis laughing made him lose it. “It’s not funny Dennis!”

“John, it’s okay,” he soothed in a chortle, unable to keep from chuckling. “It’s not like we have somewhere to be today. Why don’t we just go into the city, find a hotel and crash?”

“Oh, like we’ll find one now,” John snapped.

“Well, we can try, can’t we?”

“I guess we’ll have to…” The tone in his voice made it sound as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. In truth, it hadn’t. He wanted to get away for a few minutes, not a few days.

John pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. He then pulled off his seatbelt and opened the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing out. Remember?” He stepped out into the street, and upon doing so, he felt dizzy. The sensation came on gradually, and there was buzzing at the top of his head, and the edges of his vision whited out. John steadied himself against the hood of the car.

“Shit,” Dennis murmured in hushed panic. Immediately, he rushed out of the passenger side and to his aid. “John? John, are you okay?” Once Dennis laid a hand on the back of his neck, his palm was slick with sweat. _Definitely not okay_ , he thought. “I’ll help you in, alright?”

John hooked his arm around Dennis, using himself to keep from falling. With a groan that gave away just how horrible he felt, he flopped down into the seat. He stared ahead, zoning out, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. John struggled to get his breathing under control. The sound of the car door shutting made him jump and pull away from his disassociated state.

“Sorry,” Worry creased his forehead as he watched him slowly slip back out of it. “You okay?”

“No,” he whimpered in discomfort, then let out a small chuckle, though it pained him to do that much. “but it’ll pass in a few minutes.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“About what?”

“About _you_ ,” he said, almost incredulous that he had to ask. “Are you dying or something?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” John parried. It was a subject he would rather not delve into if he didn’t have to. “Let’s just go into the city, like you said.”

A sceptical scoff left Dennis. While he started the car and drove on, he shook his head in dismay. “You’re not gonna tell me…” The blank expression on his face was enough of an answer. “John, I care about you. I realise I left you behind, but that didn’t mean I stopped caring.”

Seconds passed. John didn’t utter a word to Dennis. He was thinking of what he could say; how he could say it. An explanation like this required going back into his past — way, _way_ back — and, again, it was something he didn’t want to talk about.

“Alright, fine,” Dennis knew it wasn’t fine, but who was he to argue? “You don’t have to tell me.”

 _Is that passive-aggressive tones I’m hearing?_ John inwardly asked. He rolled his eyes, but like the submissive person he was, he caved. After a few more uncomfortable moments of silence, John finally spoke up. “It started years ago. In high-school.”

Dennis had no idea where he was going with this, but he figured it was somewhat important. So, he kept his mouth shut and listened.

He smiled, only half-way and mirthless. “Believe it or not, I was a husky kid…” John’s face went sombre once more when the memory returned. He stared down at his hands in his lap. “And my Dad, he saw something at school about wrestling tryouts. Which, the more I think about it, the more I realise it was his way of convincing himself he still had a boy and not a… whatever you want to call me. But I was too overweight. He was so disappointed in me, as if it were my fault. That night, to make him happy, I decided to starve myself. Not completely, just stuck to one thing a day. In a few weeks, I lost ten, maybe fifteen pounds. It wasn’t enough, so I kept going.”

Then and there, Dennis felt the pit of his stomach ache and churn. So many questions entered his mind, but only one stuck with him; did his parents not notice, or did they simply not care? Considering how he talked about them, he went with the latter.

“Right before tryouts were closed,” John continued, now looking at Dennis, who kept his eyes on the road, yet still listened. “I went in and said, ‘ _Do you still have a spot open for me?_ ’ The coach just stared like he didn’t recognise me… I _know_ he didn’t. But I got in. Trouble was, I had to keep the weight off. I felt like crap before the end of the series; I couldn’t move much, which is the whole point of wrestling. By the time spring rolled around, I couldn’t take any more, so I quit. Dad really was disappointed in me then. I didn’t care. I felt like I was dying. I mean, I was a teen. I didn’t know what starving yourself did to you. I do _now_. Your body eats itself for energy and nutrition. First, it starts with the fat. Ketones. Then your muscles… and, you being a doctor, I’m sure you know what organ is also a muscle.”

That was when Dennis’ own muscles turned to jelly. “The heart,” he said with a sorrowful countenance.

Wordlessly, John’s mouth worked to say, “Yeah,” with a nod. “I got better. Started eating regularly again, which was not pleasant. Somehow, I managed to keep the weight from building back up. Having a stomach that shrunk down to a personal-sized watermelon helped. Cut to nineteen-ninety-six, a few months before I met you and the whole time we were friends, I did it again. I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened. Skipped a few meals again, nothing major. And then _you_ left,” His voice began to crack.

The Dam of Sorrows threatened to flood over, but never did. Only a couple of tears slipped out. John coughed away the post-nasal drip, and his featured hardened, trying desperately not to sob. He quavered, “I stopped caring. All I wanted was to be with you. Whether it was done slowly or quickly, if I cut into myself or…” Once again, he humourlessly chuckled before he said, “Like Romeo and Juliet. How pathetic is that?”

“It’s not pathetic,” Dennis reached across to rub John’s upper back. “Kind of romantic. In a morbid, depressing way.”

”Well, I _was_ depressed. If I’d known that it was for nothing–” He wiped his eyes with his hand, then pinched the bridge of his nose. His hand dropped to his knee with a slap. “Well, no sense in going over that again. Point is, I screwed myself over. Months of being anorexic caught up with me.”

 _God_ , Dennis inwardly moaned. _He is dying_. The question he was about to ask had him mortified, but he had to know. “How long do you have?”

“No idea. I know if I do anything that will send my heart rate sky-high and it doesn’t come down within a few minutes, I’ll go into cardiac arrest. It’s only a matter of time. Ironic, isn’t it? A doctor having health problems.”

The idea of losing him, now or later, didn't sit well with Dennis. They were just starting to get to know one another again. No-one was to blame except for himself. If he had stayed there, this might not have happened; his friend and partner might not be dying. Dennis would never forgive himself for this.

He wouldn't give up. There had to be something that could be done; some sort of medication had to be given. The trouble was actually getting John to go for it. He was stubborn as hell, never willing to do anything for himself, even if it meant saving his life. It meant nothing to him; John thought it paled in comparison to everyone else’s.

“Can I ask you something?” Dennis asked at last, voice quavering.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

John’s eyes flicked from Dennis to the dashboard and back, trying to decide if he should be serious or smart-assed. Before long, the filter between his brain and his mouth took a hike, and he rose a sardonic eyebrow. “Now doesn’t count?”

“John…” he chided.

He began to reply, but let out a stuttering sigh instead. Then, with a semi-hushed tone of irritation wedged between his words, he answered, “The same reason cancer patients don’t tell their close friends or family members. They don’t want to be treated or seen differently.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Yes, you would. You already have,” A wheezy scoff huffed out of his mouth. “I got it from people I work with, from my family… I don’t need it from you. Anyway, I’ll be fine,” John told him, convinced that it was true. He may never be fine, but he didn’t want to think about it any more than he had to. “Just can’t enjoy a hot bath or drink too much.”

“Did you ever do any of those things?” Dennis asked, his tone bordering on a whimper but sounding like a half-chortle.

“No,” A small chuckle of his own escaped his lips, almost mirthful. Almost. “I liked having the option, though.”

There were no words between them for a long time until, finally, an askance gaze slid in John’s direction while Dennis kept his eyes on the road, for the most part, bringing out a question from John.

“You’re not going to say anything else about it?”

“Like what?”

Flustered by not having to defend himself and his past actions for once, he spat out, “I don’t know, how I screwed up and that I’m stupid?”

“Somehow I think you told yourself that enough times. I’m not going to tear you down. I’ll build you up, if that’s what you need. Or if you need a distraction from everything, I’ve got you.“

“This is definitely one way to distract me,” John said, looking out the windows and into the darkness. “Was that the whole plan? Get me to come along with you on some kind of road trip, like Thelma and Louise?”

Dennis snorted in slight amusement. “Which one of us is which?”

“Oh, you’re definitely Thelma,” he replied with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don’t know what this one was, other than a bit of truth and tell, and I didn’t know how to end it, so it just… ends. I wanted to post this anyhow, whether it looks finished or not. Hope it was decent anyway.


	12. The Positives and Negatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been three days later, after the first set of tests. Carter waits for the second. While doing so, a colleague who he never thought he’d bond with finds out. Meanwhile, Dennis Gant swings by with some news of his own.

There might have been a moment when John was certain; beyond all question, this was what he wanted. To be with Dennis, maybe even marry him, eventually, adopt a sweet child and live happily ever after. Or so he told himself. Happily ever afters didn’t exist. A large part of him knew he was only trying to convince himself it did. Nothing about this felt right or happy; getting together with Dennis, sleeping with him and getting pregnant, presumably. Who was he kidding? Of course he got storked. Twenty-eight years old and knocked up by a man who lied to him and everyone else for two years and who was a possible flight risk. It was almost laughable in an ironic, self-deprecating kind of way.

As he glared at the wall, sitting in an otherwise empty exam room, John waited for Peter to return with the test results. He wished he’d hurry up, so he could get on with the day.

The sound of the door opening made him straighten himself. John stared at it with bated breath. He instantly became disappointed when Carol came in instead, her arms full of charts and other paperwork.

“Hey, Carter,” Her features hardened as she watched him sitting there, spacing out. “What are doing in here?”

He forced his heavy eyelids to open, eyebrows lifting along with it. With a sharp breath, he languidly replied, “I’m just waiting for… something.”

“Okay,” She didn’t entirely get it, but she didn’t want to pry. Carol turned to leave. Halfway out the door, she reentered, jerked her thumb over her shoulder and said, “There’s a bounceback migraine in two. You want me to get Lucy on that?”

“Please?” John flopped down on the examination bed, his arms sticking out over the sides.

“No problem. Are you okay?” Genuine concern was there in her voice.

“Yeah,” he lied. Quickly, he changed his answer. “No.”

She stepped in further and set her things down on the counter beside the door. Carol shuffled closer to him, her arms folded. “Want to talk about it?”

He took a moment to decide. Details weren’t exactly necessary. After all, he could get to that later. For now, it was just the barest of explanations. “Have you ever been so certain about something that turned out to be completely different from what you had built up in your head? No matter how many times you go over it, no matter how many excuses you come up with, you try to find the good in it, but there’s nothing.”

“I have, yeah. Doug was that something before we tried again,” Her head bobbled to and fro as she thought about it. “And Tag, I suppose…”

“I’m ready for something good to happen.”

“You and me both,” She snickered humorlessly. “Is something going on?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know where to begin. It’s all very complicated.”

“I can do complicated,” she said, smiling as soft as a newborn baby’s skin. Carol leaned in closer towards him. “Try me.”

John sat up straight and breathed in deeply, steeling himself for her unavoidable disbelief. “About a week ago, I slept with a guy who essentially lied to me for two years, and now, because I’m not one-hundred per cent male, I might be pregnant with his child. At least I think I am. I’m still,” He gestured to the door, indicating there would be a tall, black, easily irritated man whom he hoped would come through at any minute. “waiting for the tests to come back.”

So much for hiding the details.

Carol stared at him, blinking, unable to comprehend what he had just said. After almost five seconds more of stunned silence, she finally spoke. “You’re right, that _is_ complicated.”

Her response brought out of him a tiny smile and a chuckle, both of which died off as the reminder of his situation sank in.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I were,” he said in a voice full of fear. 

Her eyebrows rose with surprise. “Pregnant? How did–? I mean, I know how, or at least I think I do, but… _how_?”

“Keep asking yourself that and you might be where I am at the moment,” John shifted his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

“Still. _Pregnant_?”

“I’m intersex,” Noticing the baffled expression on her face, he explained, “Ambiguous genitalia.”

“Really?” Now suddenly rapt, she eyed him up and down. “And everything works down there?”

“Mostly. I’m infertile in the gentleman’s department but,” He waved his hands over his belly. “obviously not in the lady’s.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” she murmured in wonder. “How far along are you?”

“A little over a week. Ten days.”

“Ten days?” she echoed incredulously. “That’s pretty early.”

“I know. I just felt it, even earlier than this. Like there was some sort of bizarre sixth sense going off. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, kind of like mother’s intuition. Or should that be _father’s_ intuition? You do go by ‘he’ and ‘him’ right? I haven’t been saying the wrong pronouns, or…?”

“No, you’re fine. It’s not like I was open about it anyway. But for the record, I identify as male,” he replied with a grin, appreciative that she was being considerate. “Thank you for asking, though. I didn’t think you were up on this sort of thing. That’s really cool of you.”

“Oh, hey,” Carol shrugged off the compliment as if it were no big deal. “I had a friend who was born male but identified as female, so I know about this stuff.”

John slid her a sceptical gaze. “You didn’t know what intersex was.”

“That’s because I haven’t heard of it.”

“Really? It was coined in the sixties.”

“Ah, see. Before my time.”

He scoffed, feigning offence. “Lame excuse, Carol.”

“Hey, I’m learning about it now, aren’t I?” Her voice stretched high and squeaky, affronted.

“I’m joking. To be fair, I’m still trying to figure out myself. Am I bisexual, or–?” His countenance turned earnest as he tried to think of another sexual orientation that would suit him. “Is there a term for being attracted to one man?”

“Monogamous?” she ventured a guess, which was greeted by an extensive shrug of his shoulders. “Either that or ‘intersperse.’ From the sounds of it, you might need to be. Have you told this mystery guy?”

He tucked his hands underneath his thighs and curled up ever so slightly as though retreating. “Just you and Benton.”

“Carter, you’ve gotta tell him.”

“ _Do I_? I mean, what if he bolts?” His question almost came across as harsh and aggressive, but he didn’t mean for it to sound that way. The whole situation simply had him on edge, and who could blame him?

Carol certainly couldn’t. She saw patients go through the same thing more times than she cared to admit. It was even harder to see John go through it. The best she could do is support him, as much as she could, and it started then and there.

She gave him a hospitable smile, making sure he felt at ease around her in his time of need. “Well, if he does, he’s an idiot, and he doesn’t deserve to be this child’s life.” 

John couldn’t deny that. Dennis did a number on him, and while it still hurt him to this day, it would be worse for their kid. To say he would be an idiot to walk out on them was an understatement. He would be a damn fool and a coward at his best. Though, if Dennis ever wanted to go on the run he would take advantage of the opportunity. John knew it. He hated that he knew it. 

“He deserves to know, no matter what.” 

“Yeah, well…” John started and scratched at an imaginary itch on his forearm, avoiding making eye contact with her once more. “I don’t know if I trust him now.”

The door swung open, snagging their attention, and in came Peter. Their eyes locked on to him, both with expectant looks on their faces. 

“Carol, you think you could give us a minute?” Peter asked. 

“It’s okay,” John answered. “She knows.” 

He took one more step in, letting the door close behind him. “I didn’t think you were telling people.” 

“I didn’t plan on it. I was just venting,” John leapt out of bed and searched for the results in Peter’s pockets. “Is there anything _to_ tell?” 

“Carter,” he gently chided like a parent to a youngster. “take it easy, alright? I’ll get to it.” 

“I want to go over it.” 

His eyebrows rose imperceptibly, and he hesitated to hand it over. “You sure?” 

“Yeah. It is my body after all,” He stuck out his hand and waited patiently until it was in his clutches. John unfolded the piece of paper but hung back in reading it. Before long, he returned it to Peter. “You do it.” 

“Alright,” Peter read it carefully once, then twice, then three times. He couldn’t believe it, even though the evidence was right in front of him. 

“What?” Carol tried once more to see for herself. “What is it?” 

“Icon’s positive.” 

“What?” John shrieked with a mixture of shock and excitement. 

“Let me see?” Carol took the paper from Peter’s relaxed grasp. 

John watched the usually levelheaded man ease himself down to a second bed, appearing panicked as all get-out. His eyes stayed on him for only a few seconds before going over to Carol to read it. Soon after, a burst of laughter followed, then he cheered loudly. He coughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re allowed to be happy. Congratulations, Carter.” 

“Thanks,” Again, he looked at Peter, regarding him with curiosity, complicated by alarm. “Are you okay, Doctor Benton?” 

“Carter, I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

He was right, but not in the way he meant or thought.

* * *

The moment Dennis wandered into the hospital, his stomach turned. He saw faces he recognised, some he didn’t, none he locked eyes with. He could feel eyes on him when there wasn’t any. Not until a short, blonde woman came walking up to him with curiosity on her face.

“Can I help you with something?” Lucy asked. “You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.”

He broke into a mirthless laugh. She was right on the money. Being here when he was aware that half the staff knew he was dead. It would be hard to explain how and why he suddenly came back to life. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that with her.

“I’m just looking for John,” Dennis replied, then remembered people rarely, if ever, called him by his first name. So, he clarified, “Carter.”

“Same here,” Kindly, Lucy smiled at him. “Let’s see if we can’t find him.”

“I can wait for him in chairs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She gave him another once-over, her eyes narrowing speculatively upon him while the two walked and talked. ”You’re the guy, aren’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Dennis stammered, rubbing his clammy hand against the opposite arm.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything. He mentioned being with some guy, and you know him well enough to call him John, I thought–”

“No, you’re right,” he interrupted. “I just didn’t think he’d tell anyone.”

Lucy gave a quick nod as she giggled. “Well, we kinda badgered it out of him. Not to sound weird, but I'm glad you two… you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that happy before. He’s so defensive and cocky.”

He shot up an eyebrow. “John? He’s a sweetheart.”

“You know him better than I do, I’m sure. I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“I figured. He talked about you. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Dennis.”

“Likewise,” Lucy then spotted one of the many nurses, Yosh Takata, down the hall, almost running. No doubt responding to a trauma. She stopped him while she still could. “Yosh, have you seen Carter anywhere?”

“Exam four, last I heard,” he answered. “Can you help out with this? It’s really brutal in there.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Apologetically, she looked to Dennis. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

“No problem. I get it.”

“Exam four is–”

“I know where it is,” he interjected before she could even finish. “I used to work here.”

“Really? You coming back?”

“Not likely,” Dennis waved good-bye to her, a kind smile on his face. “Thanks for the help.”

He made his way cautiously to the room, peered through the window in the door and found no-one. It started to worry him. Dennis turned back toward chairs, heading for the lounge, hoping nobody would spot him along the way. After pushing the door open, Dennis finally found John getting some coffee.

“Hey.”

The sound of Dennis’ voice startled him. John gripped on to the handle of the coffee pot, leaving a slight indentation in his palm. Once he calmed down, he picked up his composure and faced him with an expression of pure terror and anxiety. “What are you doing here?”

Dennis motioned to the chairs surrounding the table and sat himself down. “I needed to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

“What if somebody comes in?”

“John, sit down, please.”

With a quick nod, he eased himself onto the seat across from him and eyed him worriedly. “I’m listening.”

Deeply, Dennis breathed in and gave him a small, thin-lipped half-smile. “I don’t want to do this to you, but… Well, since I’ve come back, I’ve been looking for work. Haven’t had any luck, until today. I got a job, in architecture. I’m not handling blueprints or anything, just helping with building. I start tomorrow.”

The news took him aback. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, they really needed people, I guess,” Dennis looked down at his hands, then regretfully into John’s eyes. “It’s in San Francisco.”

In an instant, his entire being tumbled down into a dark fissure, falling endlessly. If anyone were to walk in now, he wouldn’t see them or hear what they had to say. John was too stunned, too out of it to notice. All he felt was numb and empty; he might as well be dead.

Nothing was said for a long time after that. John didn’t mean to go quiet; he was simply trying to make sense of it all. It proved to be difficult. Every time he opened his mouth, he felt like he might hurl rather than speak.

“John, really,” Dennis urged. “I know you’re trippin’ over this, but–”

A sudden burst of laughter came out of John. It wasn’t the response he expected, but rather a response that came the more he thought about it. It started out wheezy then turned hearty.

Dennis’ eyes narrowed. “Why are you laughing?”

Bit by bit, John’s guffaws died down, his expression gradually becoming blank. He shrugged extensively, his smile returning. “It’s stupid,” he said with a little bit of a chortle. John raked his fingers through his hair, then plopped it down on the table with a thud, as he shook his head in disbelief. He whimpered out, “I actually thought you’d stay.”

“I’m not going away forever,” Dennis reached for his hand, which John wrenched away from. He stared blankly at the table, then at John. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”

Another chuckle, incredulous this time, passed through his gaping mouth. He snapped it shut and chewed at the inside of his lip, debating his next response. John looked at his feet, then sighed. By the time he gazed at Dennis once more, tears had formed in his eyes. “You’re right. I should be happy. You got a job, doing something you have _no_ business doing, across the country–”

“Alright, I get it. You don’t like it. Well, get over it,” Dennis stood up to leave and muttered, “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Go. It’s what you’re good at.”

Dennis sharply asked, “What do you want from me, John? Did you really think we’d be together forever?”

 _I hoped_. That was what he wanted to say. Instead, he simply glared in silence. It became evident that Dennis had a serious disinterest in the idea of being together, and he wasn’t sure why it took him so long to realise. Hope. It had a blinding effect on people, and, for John, he was shrouded in its white light that was constantly there, keeping him ignorant and distracted.

One could argue that it was just a job, that he could talk to him whenever, online or over the phone, and those facts would probably come to him later when he cooled down, but all John could think of in that moment was how alone he’d be. How he just got Dennis back, only to lose him again. It wasn’t fair. It was like someone higher up had it in for him.

With a fixed glower, John approached Dennis. He stopped. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a single key. John shoved it flat against Dennis’ chest, and walked away.

Dennis stared at it in the palm of his hand; the key to his apartment — a symbol of their commitment. It meant nothing now. In an instant, it was over before it really began.

He’d regret it, but he followed John outside. It took him about four seconds to reach him, and once he had John’s attention, five to figure out what to say. What could be said that he’d actually listen to? Right about now, nothing.

“What?” John snapped, shooting a nasty gaze at him, like bullets to his heart.

“You really want to end things like this?”

“You’re the one ending things.”

“John, I said I would come back.”

“No, what you _said_ was that you wouldn’t leave me!” He spat the words out in a furious rush. “Or was that another lie?”

Dennis jammed his hands into his pockets, regarding him with eyes full of unspeakable baseness, nervous and uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have promised you that. I’m sorry.”

Once more, silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of ambulances in the distance.

A multitude of emotions flitted across his face; frustration, resentment, grief and fear. All of it began to affect him in waves.

Figuring he had nothing more to say on the subject, Dennis then got closer to him. He waited for the inevitable recoil but it never happened. He planted a tender kiss on John’s forehead, backed away slowly and, in seconds, felt his heart flutter. It was this, he realised, that he’d miss the most. The sensation of warmth and affection just being around him, pulling Dennis further in love with him. It made it all the more harder to bear.

“I have to go. My flight leaves in a couple of hours,” Dennis said, an apologetic tone in his voice. “I will call you when I get there.”

Though tears clouded his vision, John watched Dennis leave him alone in the cold, snow falling as he did so. He shivered, not from being chilly, but from uncontrollable sobs. John inhaled long and hard through his already stuffy nose, then, wiping his face with his hands, tried to stop crying. He held himself together, only just.

John couldn’t see it, but Dennis wasn’t faring much better. It killed him to walk away from John. Even though he didn’t say it, he was everything to him. He couldn’t see his life without him. Not then and certainly not at this point. John couldn’t see it — Dennis didn’t want him to — but it was for his own good.


	13. Line of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths are revealed, and nobody expected it to be this horrible.

Mark hustled out to meet the EMTs who were bringing someone in. At first, he didn’t see John standing there. Not until he said something.

“Need any help?” John asked, voice nasally. With any luck, Mark would assume it was from being outside.

“Oh. Hey. Uh…” Mark clocked the obvious sadness in his countenance; the puffy red eyes and plugged up nose. He surmised it wasn’t a good idea to let him work like this. “Nah, I think I can manage.”

“You sure? There’s not a whole lot going on right now. Except for this,” John motioned his hand towards the gurney.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it, Carter,” he insisted, then turned his attention to the paramedics. “Alright, give me the bullet.”

While the three of them headed inside, John followed, even though he didn’t need to. He honestly didn’t feel up to doing anything, except maybe catching up on charts, but if he could help in some way, shape or form, he’d try.

“Thirty-year-old female found unconscious on the street. Gunshot wound to the shoulder,” the EMT, Dwight Zadro, replied while he, his partner, Mark and John wheeled the patient in. “Pulse is one-twenty, BP’s at eighty-three systolic. Tried to get her to come to, but nothing worked. No response.”

“Let’s go to Trauma One,” Mark waved Lydia over to help out. “Okay, why don’t we–” His orders stopped when he saw somebody already occupied the room. “Oh, man…” he murmured. “What’s he still doing here?”

“Still waiting on the death-kit,” Chuny answered.

John couldn't swear to it, but he felt he recognised the man, despite the pallor and blood covering his dark-skinned body. He didn’t quite know how or why, though. “What happened to him?”

“Bullet to the heart. Bled out quicker than we could give it back.”

“Trauma Two it is then,” Mark started to head that way when he noticed John was still standing at the foot of the bed. “Carter, you coming?”

Reluctantly, slowly, John stepped back. “Um…” His thought trailed off, lost in a sudden sense of unease he couldn’t explain. In the end, he decided to stay. “No, I think I’m gonna hang back here, finish up.”

“Is he your patient?”

He turned to the nurse. He honestly couldn’t remember. “No?”

Chuny shook her head. Inwardly, she wondered how he even made it out the door this morning.

“Ah, well,” John shrugged off a hint of embarrassment. “I can still clean up in here.”

“Okay. Just don’t let the board get too cluttered.”

John gave him a curt nod and looked down, as his eyes scanned the patient’s face. He knew he recognised him. It was driving him crazy.

* * *

“Type and cross for six, two large-bore IVs, get X-Ray down here for an AP and lateral shot, blood gas, vital, CRX and ECG monitoring, chest tube and a thoracotomy tray just in case,” Mark’s eyes flitted to a random spot then returned his gaze to Lydia. “Did I forget anything this time?”

Lydia, who was standing above the woman’s head, giving her air through an Ambu bag and a mask, replied, “Nope.”

One for three, he thought. It was no fault of his own. With John being extra quiet and elsewhere, it had him worried; scatterbrained. Mark glanced up across the room, his sights landing on John. Mark watched him as he examined the body. “Does he seem off to you?”

“Carter?” Lydia stared at him as if wondering why they were discussing this instead of helping the patient. Still, it wasn’t the first time they were talking about any kind of personal incidents around patients, conscious or not, so she went with it, shrugging. “I figured it was just Carter being… Carter.”

Mark eyed him once more while inserting the chest tube. “Seems off to me.”

It was clear to her that he was worried — beyond worried, actually. “Should I get someone else to cover so you can talk to him?”

“No, it’ll be fine. Let’s just focus on this Jane Doe,” Then, when gazing at the patient, something struck him as strangely familiar. “You recognise her?”

“No?” Lydia answered, curiosity in her tone. “Should I?”

“I feel like I know her from somewhere…”

At that moment, Haleh came in to grab the portable ultrasound left in there after a previous patient. She couldn’t help but overhear them. Well, she could, but she didn’t want to let it go without saying something. “It’s going around,” she stated. “Carter’s convinced he knows the guy in Trauma One.”

“Frequent flyers maybe?” Lydia hazarded a guess.

“I’ve never seen ’em before,” Haleh shrugged and walked out.

The unknown, black woman groaned as she slowly came to. A sharp inhale through her nostrils came next, then she shot upward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, easy,” Mark urged gently. “Ma’am, do you know what happened? Do you know where you are?”

She looked around, gasping and delirious. In all of the adrenaline, she didn’t feel any pain until she got up to leave, muttering curses the entire time.

“Ma’am, please lay back down,” Mark exhorted. “You’ve been shot.”

“You don’t think I know that?” she snapped. “I need to finish the damn job!” By the time she stood up straight, she realised she didn’t have to. “Oh…”

Lydia imperceptibly cocked her head to one side. “Did you know him?”

“He’s the guy who shot me,” she quietly replied, gawking at the man the entire time. “Guess they did that.”

“Who did?” Mark asked. He didn’t get an answer. The woman was too busy concentrating on other things. Following a sigh, he raised another question, “What’s your name?”

“Monique,” With the all the speed of a spinning top, she faced him, holding her shoulder as if it would fall off, should she lose diligence. “I was only try’na get to him.”

“Who?”

“My ex; lying son of a bitch stole two-thousand bucks from me. But _he_ wouldn’t talk!”

Mark scowled as he folded his arms. “So you thought shooting him would get it out of him?”

“I didn’t shoot anybody, alright? It was my baby’s guys. Nobody screws with me!” she screamed, swinging her good arm in the air. Monique was about to chew him out further when she finally felt the searing pain.

“Alright,” Mark’s hands hovered over her, not wanting to get a fist to his face for actually touching her. “Back in bed.”

“Yeah, fine!” She waved him off as if he were an insect in her way. “Just get me fixed up quick so I can give that asshole a piece of my mind.”

“You got it,” As soon as Mark turned away, he rolled his eyes, passive-aggressive style. 

The door to the adjoining Trauma Room opened and John came in, a decidedly concerned expression on his face. “Do you guys need help in here?”

Monique’s eyes went dead when she heard him speak; it was familiar and hated. She slid a glower right to John. “You,” she growled, baring her teeth.

He perked up considerably. John hadn’t heard that voice in years, and he was hoping he wouldn’t again. “Monique?”

“You know her?” Mark asked, his eyes narrowed. 

He had to laugh at the absurdity of the idea, true as it was, sadly. John did his best not to offend her, even though he wanted to so badly. The ex of Dennis Gant was more than deserving of it. “Yeah, only by phone calls, photos and horror stories.”

Mark could sense something was going to go down just by the crazed look in Monique’s eyes. He leaned in to whisper in Lydia’s ear, “Get security.”

It was too little too late. Before anyone could react, she flung herself out of bed and bum-rushed John into the wall, hard and fast, leaving him breathless. “Where is he?!” Monique screamed at the top of her lungs. “I know you know!”

Without waiting another second, Mark attempted to pry her off him. It failed, resulting in getting an elbow to the chin and forced him backwards into the tray of medical equipment.

Whether it was fear or being pinned, John couldn’t tell. Either way, he was paralysed. All he could do was stare into her manic eyes, feeling her quickened breath against his skin.

“You’re not talking either?” She looked around for something that would make him speak, maybe even squirm in agony and terror. Eventually, she caught sight of a scalpel, snatched it up and held it against his jugular. “I’d hate to fuck up your pretty, white ass for nothing, so at least tell me what you got that I don’t.”

Briefly, John’s eyes flicked to Mark, who was slowly but steadily getting closer to her, a syringe of what he could assume was a sedative in hand. Before he became too suspicious, he returned his attention to her and shakily said, “A soul, for a start.”

She was about to say something derogative when she was cut off by a sharp, piercing, then burning sensation in the nape of her neck. Monique whirled around to see where it came from. There was Mark, behind her with an empty syringe. Once more, she was going to yell a few choice words, but before she could, the effects of the drug kicked in instantly and she collapsed at John’s feet like a lead mannequin.

It took everything out of John not to do the same. Wheezing out a long held breath, he grabbed his neck and stumbled sideways, running into a chair. He kept himself upright, barely, shaking hands flat against the wall behind him, as if the cool, pistachio-green tiles would somehow calm his nerves.

Peter, down in the ER for a consult, heard the commotion and burst in. “What–?” He didn’t have to finish asking; the view of a woman unconscious on the floor, Mark and Lydia looking down at her with astonishment and dismay, and John having a small, stress induced myocardial infarction was enough of an answer. Things were going _horribly_.

Following him in were a couple of security guards, prompting Mark to mutter under his breath, “Bang on time.”

Lydia gawked at Mark for a moment, then asked, “Ativan?” She received a quick nod from him. “How much did you give her?”

“Four milligrammes.”

“Carter?” Peter approached him cautiously, knowing that rushing in would make his anxiety worse. “What happened?”

John would have given a response if it weren’t for the rising sickness churning in his stomach. Before long, he hefted himself over to the sink and promptly puked his guts out, not from coming close to meeting his maker, not even from morning sickness, but from fear of losing Dennis once and for all. 

“Oh, man…” A sympathetic frown creased Mark’s brow. He took a second to consider who to take care of first; John or Monique. It was probably best to take care of John, before he had a panic attack. “Switch places with me. She needs a consult anyway.”

“Yeah, sure.”

* * *

Mark wrapped his arm around John’s shoulder, leading him to the lounge. A gesture he wrenched away from. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help,“ he told him with a sharp tone. “I _need_ to get out of here. If that’s not too much to ask.”

“Go where?”

“I can’t tell you right now.”

He donned a disappointed expression, standing with arms folded. “Why not?”

There was not sense in hiding it from him; he’d figure it out eventually — they all would. Now, however, was not the time. He had a plan that had to be acted upon. John breezed past him, hustled into the ER, then realised he _did_ need help for this. Mentally, he was in no shape to drive. “Mark, I need you.”

Blankly, Mark stared at him. “Well, uh, that’s… really flattering, but I’m taken.”

A quick smile flashed across John’s lips, as well as a small chuckle. “No, I mean I need you with me.”

“Where?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” John tugged and pulled his arm like a child trying to get their parent to come with them. “Now, please? I can’t do this alone. Please.”

“Carter, slow down. What is–?”

“ _Please_ , I need you with me, or I’ll drive off the nearest cliff!” John snapped. He looked around at the other faces, a mixture of shock and bewilderment about them. So, to an extent, he lowered his voice. “Please. I _really_ need you here.”

“We can’t just go in the middle of a shift.”

“Then tell Kerry it’s an emergency. It’s not exactly a lie.”

It was clear that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Glancing back at the admit desk, Mark let out a sigh, returned his gaze to John and said, “Alright. I’ll go, but you have to _tell me_ what’s going on first.”

John drew in a deep breath until his lungs were full, then let it out in a huff, in a series of small bursts. It was time he came clean. “You remember Dennis Gant?”

* * *

“Come on. What aren’t you telling me?” Doug asked. He was trying embarrassingly hard to get Carol to fess up. He knew she was hiding something — after spending years with her, he had her tells down.

“Exactly the point,” she told him, never taking her eyes off the computer monitor in front of her. On the screen was a research piece on intersex persons and pregnancy. Thankfully, it went unnoticed by Doug. Carol went on, “I’m not telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll blab. You’re worse than the rest of the nurses here,” That statement brought a giggle out of him, one she rolled her eyes at. “That’s not something to be proud of.”

“At least tell me who it’s about?”

Fed up, Carol decided to stop hiding it, if for no other reason than to shut him up. She wheeled around to look at him and his Cheshire Cat grin. She simply glared back. “Carter. Okay? Anything else, you’ll have to ask him.”

“Okay, I will,” Doug hunted around the immediate vicinity for him but couldn’t find him. “Where is he?”

“Outside,” she answered, once again disinterested.

Mark approached the desk as Doug walked past him, a wild look in his eye and a purposeful stride. “Hey, Carol, have you seen Weaver?”

“Did you know that intersex individuals are as common as people with genuine red hair?”

He stared at her, deadpan, though she didn’t look up to see it. Right now, he wasn’t interested in facts he would probably never remember. “Fascinating. Where’s Kerry?”

“Try the lounge,” she said, still not tearing her eyes away from the screen.

* * *

Doug stepped out to the ambulance bay, only to see John pacing around, almost in tears. Needless to say, it had him more than a little worried. What he’d wanted to say flew out the window. Instead, Doug felt compelled to comfort him. “Hey. Hey, Carter? Buddy? What’s going on?”

“He’s dead. Or he’s _dying_!” Every word that followed came out in a panicked frenzy. “I-I-I don’t know I don’t know! I need to get to him!”

“Okay. Okay, I hear ya,” Doug reassured. “Carter, sl–”

“Where the hell is Mark?” John shouted.

As if to answer his question, Mark strode out, headed towards them. “Thirty minutes.”

Finally, John griped inwardly. He shook his head. “It’s only two minutes away. Here,” He tossed his keys to Mark. “You’re still driving.”

He hurled them back with a flick of his wrist. “They’ll be expecting it. We’ll take my van.”

“Right,” Momentarily, he wondered why he didn’t think of that first. He wasn’t thinking clearly at all. “Right,” John repeated, then hustled along behind him like a hound.

A full three seconds passed between the time they left and the time Doug booked it after them.

Hearing an extra set of footsteps prompted Mark ask without stopping or looking, “Where do think you’re going?”

“With you,” he said. “Sounds like you’ll need some backup.”

“Whatever. Can we just go, please?” John demanded, sounding almost frustrated.

“You heard the man,” Mark gestured towards John, who was already half-way to his vehicle. “Do you even know what’s going on?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll fill me in.”

* * *

John was right; only a two-minute trip, maybe less than that, and they arrived. Mark stopped the van six feet away from the apartment. As soon as he put it in park, John was ready to be a hero. Although he was going to be a dead dumb-ass if he went in now, and he knew it. So, John stalled, hand hovering over the door handle, which eventually plopped into his lap.

“See any cars you don’t recognise?” Mark asked.

He scanned the area carefully and found only the usual two compact cars across the street. Still, he couldn’t be certain that there wasn’t anything unusual parked further away. “I don’t think so,” he replied, taking a deep, calming breath.

Doug popped his head in between the driver and passenger seats. “What now?”

“Now I’m going in,” John opened the door and set one foot out. He could only get one before being pulled back in. “What?” he groaned at Mark like a child.

“You don’t know what might be going on in there. What if you get shot?” The fear in his voice was unmistakable and overflowing.

“Well,” Thinking it over, John’s eyes flicked to the dashboard window and back to Mark. “at least the hospital is a short drive away,” He grinned, dimpling his cheeks, which faded away when he saw neither of them thought it was funny. After a clear of his throat, he took another deep breath and summoned the strength to get out and head inside. Before leaving, he told him, “Just honk if anyone shows up.”

Mark and Doug watched as John made his way to the apartment building, both of them anxious beyond expression. They looked to one another, inwardly asking, ‘ _What are we going to do with him?_ ’

Shuffling halfway past the door frame, John slowed down even more. Cautiously, he peeked up the stairs from below, unblinking. He saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary. Typical arguing couple in one room, loud music from another trying to drown it out. John kept going, gritting his teeth the entire way up the steps, fully expecting his heart to go into overdrive.

Every what-if entered his mind; the main one being, what if he was too late? If Dennis had left already, that would be fine with John. He would be pissed off and scared out of his mind, being a single parent, but if it meant Dennis would be safe, he was all for it. However, if he’d already got a bullet to the chest or the head, John couldn’t bear it.

A few moments of existential crisis longer, he made it to Dennis’ apartment room. John lifted a hand to knock, but instead, the door swung open as soon as his knuckles met the wood.

His stomach dropped and rolled as if it were performing some extremely elaborate form of acrobatics. John’s eyes gazed at the room. It looked as though a tornado blew through and left a couple of frat brothers behind. No-one seemed to be there, at least until he rounded the corner out of the living room and…

“GAAHHH, SHIT!”

Dennis stood before him, gun aimed right in John’s face. With a sigh, he lowered it. “It’s just you. Wh–? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to get you out of here. Can you put that away, please?” John scrutinised the firearm a second time, almost resenting it. “Why do you even have that?”

Dennis shrugged. “ _Cook County, Chicago_? Why do you think?”

“Noted,” he said, giving Dennis’ bag a once-over. “Are you packed?”

“Yeah…?”

John took him by the hand and tugged gently. “Come with me.”

Swiftly, Dennis pulled away, blinking rapidly, and with a look of utter confusion, he stared at him. “Where?”

“The hospital.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll go over well,” Dennis responded in a sarcastic manner. “‘Hey, everyone. Sorry for disappearing two years ago. Mind if I hide out here?’”

“You’d be safer there until we figure something else out.”

“I would be safer _anywhere but here_!” Dennis snapped.

“Fine, then we’ll drop you off at the airport–”

“Wait a sec. _We_?” Dennis didn’t get a response.

He continued without a beat, “Either way, you’re coming with me.”

Dennis simply arched an eyebrow in response.

“That sounded more aggressive than I meant it to, but… I do need you to come with me.”

“John,” he whispered and marched gradually towards him. “You don’t need to get involved in this.”

“It’s a little late for that. Your ex–” John stopped there and shook it off. “Doesn’t matter. The point is you can’t stay here.”

“I know, that’s why I’m leaving. And you need to, too, before something happens to you.”

“So I’m supposed to just walk away and let you die?”

“I’ll only die if you don’t get out of my way,” He lightly pushed John aside, then walked purposefully to the living room, snatched up the picture of himself and John off the end table and stuffed it into his bag. Much as his presence annoyed Dennis, he still cared about him deeply. Enough to keep him safe and alive. Enough to bring a reminder of what he would be regrettably leaving behind. Dennis turned and gazed at him remorsefully. “I’ll miss you.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” John reached out and touched Dennis on the sleeve of his coat. “I can take you, at least. Let me do that much?”

Dennis let out a stuttering, emotional breath as he nodded. “Yeah,” he spoke on his exhale. “Okay.”

Just then, they heard a car horn honking three long times. John knew it was Mark. Anxiously, he looked around for another way out. His eyes locked on to the fire escape. Without a word, he grabbed Dennis by the hand once more and brought him to the window.

“You can’t be serious!” Dennis exclaimed incredulously.

“You got a better idea?” he grunted while he struggled with the window locks. It had never been opened until that very moment, and even then, it wasn’t budging. John did a double-take on a dining room chair and rushed to grab it with both hands. “Alright, stand back.”

“Wait a minute! John?”

A second later, ignoring Dennis, John lifted it and smashed the window. Glass shattered and fell to the floor with a myriad of tinkles. Gingerly, with the side of his shoe, he brushed away some shards to make a clear path.

Dennis gawked in surprise. “Can’t believe you just did that.”

“I’ll pay for damages,” he said in a hurry, then waved him to go ahead. “You first.”

Dennis knew this was a dangerous situation from the start, and he quickly chose to hang back and let John go. “I’m the one with a weapon. I can cover you.”

“Fine. But you better be behind me.”

“Of course.”

John crawled out, carefully swung his lanky legs over the windowpane, avoiding being jabbed or cut by glass. Once he straightened himself out, he pressed hard on the ladder with his foot. It slid down, clattering the whole way. As loud as it was, it covered the noise of people storming in. He didn’t see them either, as he was climbing down the ladder.

His legs dangled a moment, like two limp noodles. John leapt off and landed on his feet with all the grace of a drunken giraffe. He stood waiting for Dennis. A few seconds went by. Then a few more. The thought occurred to him that, maybe, he went out the main door, so he went around the front of the building and headed for the van.

Waiting beside it was Mark. He stared at him, a troubled look in his eyes. “Where is he?”

“He’s not here?” John’s voice flew up in pitch, worried and panicked.

“I thought he was with you.”

“Oh, God,” John drew out in fear. His already pale visage grew leached of any colour. He was about to go in when Mark held him back.

Despite the screaming protests to let him go and the struggle it took to keep him there, Mark did not let up. He was not to go anywhere. It was bad enough he might lose someone else; he would not lose John on top of that, not if he could help it.

Two shots fired. The earth-shattering sound stalled their struggle, even their breathing, for a moment at least.

John slid out of Mark’s loosened grip and sprinted to the door. One last fire of a gun stopped him as though they had shot him. His chest even hurt like he had been. John couldn’t breathe. He knew it; he felt it, but he didn’t want to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s the end, folks! This was supposed to be up two days ago, but with the holidays... I got busy. Next part is coming very soon. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for reading!


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